Originally published in 1981
Note: This work is released under a Creative Commons Attribution Non-Commercial Share-Alike license. You are free to distribute and modify this work as long as you do so without commercial gain, share the results under this same license, and attribute the original work to Robert J. Shea.
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They stripped Jebu naked. They threw his yellow aspirant's tunic into the fire bowl on the right side of the altar.
"You will not need that again. Tomorrow morning you will put on the grey robe of an initiate. Or you will be dead, and we will burn your body." Sitting on an unpainted wooden stool before the altar, Taitaro, abbot of the Waterfowl Temple, looked steadily at Jebu. Around his neck Taitaro wore the plain white rope that symbolized his office. He was Jebu's stepfather, but tonight his eyes said, I know you not. He would burn Jebu's body and throw the ashes in the rubbish pit if his son failed, and he would never look back.
The flimsy tunic flared up with a hiss, throwing sparks into the air. As it crisped and blackened, a rope of smoke coiled up to the dark cypress beams of the ceiling.
"As that tunic is reduced to ashes, so will your entire life be consumed this night. Know this, aspirant Jebu: whatever comes to pass, whether you live or die, tomorrow morning you will be nothing." Taitaro's mouth was set in a straight line behind his short black beard, and his weary, deep-set eyes burned into Jebu's.
A monk on the left side of the altar struck a wooden club against a hollow log that hung suspended from the temple ceiling. A deep, musical boom resounded through the hall.
"Take the aspirant to the crypt," said Taitaro in his quiet voice.
Two grey-robed monks carrying blazing pine-knot torches stepped to either side of Jebu. The tops of their heads did not reach his shoulders. He stood straight, fighting the urge to stoop over and try to make himself shorter. It was so painful to be different from the others. Had Taitaro deliberately picked the two shortest men in the monastery to stand beside Jebu, just to humiliate him?
The two monks took a step forward in unison, their wooden sandal soles clacking on the stone floor. Jebu stepped forward with them, starting off on the left foot as he had been instructed, his bare sole shrinking from the cold floor. He had better get used to pain. There would be much more of it before morning came. He walked with the monks around the black stone block that served the Zinja temple as an altar. In the dark wall behind the altar was the simple outline of a waterfowl, incised by a sculptor when the temple was built.
The monks said the Waterfowl Temple was so old it had been here when the sun goddess Amaterasu appointed her great-great-grandson, Jimmu, the first Emperor of these islands. It was a wooden framework with paper walls, standing on a platform of stone. The platform had been carved out of the rock of the mountainside. The Zinja kept no records, and no one knew exactly when the temple had been built. Pits, chambers and tunnels had been dug into the mountain beneath the temple, and with the passing centuries had grown deeper and more tangled, like the roots of an ancient tree.
Directly behind the altar was a square opening on the floor. Stone steps led down into darkness. Jebu had only been in the crypt three times before, when monks of the Order had died and their ashes had been carried there in procession.
One of Jebu's escorts gestured, and Jebu started down the steps of the crypt, feeling a strange, tremulous sensation near his heart. The torchlight did not reach to the bottom of the steps, and he seemed to be descending into total blackness. It frightened him, frightened him all the more because he didn't know what was going to happen to him. He had never been permitted to see an initiation, and there had been very few such ceremonies during the whole time he had lived at the temple.
The two monks followed him down the stairs. In the light of their torches Jebu could see the ninety-nine black stone jars standing on nine steps carved in the wall of the crypt. Every crypt in every Zinja temple contained nine times eleven urns. Each time a monk died, the leftmost urn on the bottom step was carried up out of the crypt, and the ashes in it were scattered on the ocean wind that beat against the temple all the year round. Then the jar, refilled with the ashes of the monk who had just died, was put on the right side of the top step, while all the other urns were moved one space to the left. Over the years, death by death, the urn would travel along the steps until it reached the bottom of the crypt, and the ashes of a monk whose name by then had been forgotten would be thrown away.
"These are the relics of the brothers of our Order," said one of the monks with Jebu. "You have seen them before. You may not know that almost half of these jars are empty. The bodies of these brothers were lost. We put the empty urns here in their memory."
The other monk said, "Almost all the monks whose funeral urns are here were killed by men. They died in combat, or they were murdered, or they were executed. This is what a Zinja can expect-you are asking to be killed. And yet you want to be a Zinja. You are a fool."
Jebu guessed that the words were part of the ritual. He saw no need to reply.
The first monk said, "Now take that ring there in the floor, and lift it."
The ring, made of black iron, gleamed in the torchlight, having been polished by the grip of many hands. Jebu tugged at it. The Zinja were trained for strength, and Jebu, being bigger than most of the monks, was the strongest young man in the Waterfowl Temple. Even so, he could only slightly raise the great stone slab to which the ring was attached; then he had to let it fall back. One of the monks handed his torch to the other and helped Jebu. Together they slid away the stone. The monks gestured silently to him, indicating that he was to climb down into the chamber below the slab. It was a stone box with just enough room for him to lie down. The cold of the stone shocked his naked body; the little chamber was damp and smelled of mould.
"You will lie in this chamber and we will put the slab back into place. No matter what happens, you must not try to get out. If you do, you will die. It may seem that you are going to die if you do not escape, but you will die if you try to escape. Believe that, and believe nothing else that you hear from this moment on, until the Father Abbot himself comes to release you, at his pleasure."
Jebu lay in the stone box, staring up at the two monks. He had thought them short before; now they towered above him, their faces strange masks in the flickering torchlight. Together the monks pushed the slab into place. The darkness was total. He brought his hand up over his face and moved it from side to side, but he could see nothing. He was buried alive in a stone chamber the size of a coffin. It was made for people smaller than himself; the top of his head and the soles of his feet pressed hard against the ends when he lay at full length. There was barely room to move his hands away from his sides. And when he lifted his head he struck his forehead against the top of the chamber.
He was afraid, but not panic-stricken. He had begun his Zinja training at the age of four, learning to balance on wooden railings, to hang by his hands for hours, to run, to dive, to swim and to climb; but the first thing he had learned was mastery of fear in any threatening situation. "The purpose of fear is to drive us to preserve our lives," said Taitaro, "just as the purpose of hunger is to drive us to eat. But a Zinja is not interested in preserving his life. His aim is to lose the craving for life. Only those who have lost this craving are truly free." So, little children not yet able to read or write were subjected to sword thrusts, mock hangings, the bites of supposedly poisonous insects and snakes, and dozens of other frightening experiences. As the children dedicated to the Order grew older and harder and became proficient in the use of weapons, these encounters with terror, at first only simulated, became more realistic. The year before, one of Jebu's friends had died at the age of sixteen when he panicked and fell from a plank no wider than a man's foot which bridged a mountain gorge.
Jebu lay on his back in the dark in the stone coffin and wondered, not for the first time, whether the Order consisted of madmen and fools and whether he himself was the biggest fool of all. Why was he doing this? Because they got him when he was young. Because his father was killed and Taitaro married his mother and adopted him and put him through the training as a matter of course.
Though no light penetrated the stone above him, sound did, and Jebu heard approaching footsteps, and then a voice saying, "My son."
"Is that you, Taitaro-sensei?"
"Yes," said the abbot, his voice muffled but unmistakable. "We come now to the centre of your initiation, to the truth which is to be revealed to you as a Zinja. This truth will sustain you through this trial and through all the ordeals of life to come. We call it the Saying of Supreme Power. Swear now before all the kami of this place, all the kami of the Order and all the great kami of these Sacred Islands that you will reveal to no one what I tell you now."
"I swear."
"Even if other brothers of the Order tell you they already know the Saying of Supreme Power and are only testing you to learn whether you know it, you must not repeat it to them. You must not even admit that you know it. On pain of expulsion from the Order, and even death, Jebu."
"I understand," said Jebu quickly, eager to learn what final truth lay locked at the heart of the Zinja mysteries.
"Then hear the Saying of Supreme Power." There was a silence in the absolute blackness. Then: "The Zinja are devils."
"What?"
"The Zinja are devils."
"Taitaro-sensei, I don't understand."
"Say it back to me. I want to be sure you heard me correctly." Jebu hesitated. "I may not."
"Good. You have understood that much."
Jebu shook his head. He wanted to climb out of this stone box and seize his stepfather by the shoulders and shake him. "But, sensei, that is contrary to everything I've ever been taught. Is it a true saying, or is it just the kind of spell conjurers use to call up spirits? I don't see how it can be true. The Zinja are not-we are not-that."
"You do not know. You are not yet a Zinja. Farewell now, Jebu. I hope I shall see you in the morning."
Jebu was acutely conscious of the enormous weight of the stone suspended over him. It seemed suddenly as if there were no air to breathe. What could it mean: the Zinja are devils? He had been taught to believe that the highest calling a man might hope for-unless he were born to the robes of the Emperor-was to be a Zinja. Anyone, no matter how lowborn, could be a Zinja, if he could endure the training. Even an untouchable, a slave, a hairy Ainu from the north, even a barbarian foreigner. Yes, that was why he was a Zinja, because they would take anyone, even the strange-looking red-haired son of a man from across the western sea. But perhaps the Zinja would take anyone because they were devils. Devils would take anyone.
Something icy touched his shoulder blades. He wriggled to try to escape it, and his heart started pounding harder than ever. Was it the touch of a devil? The cold feeling spread to the small of his back, to his buttocks. He put his hand flat on the floor of the stone coffin in which he lay. Water. Water was trickling into the chamber from outside. The temple was at the edge of the sea; perhaps when the tide rose the water entered this box. No, unlikely. This chamber was high above the level of the sea. It was more probable that this was part of the ordeal. The water continued to rise. His back was submerged, the cold trickling into his armpits and freezing his groin, and his teeth began to chatter. He lifted his head as the water soaked into his hair and bumped his forehead painfully against the stone slab that imprisoned him. The water rose around the sides of his head and he grimaced and shook his head from side to side as it crept into his ears. He put his fingers into his ears to keep it out.
The water seemed cold enough to freeze his blood. He began automatically to twitch the muscles all over his body, in a regular rhythm he had been taught, to raise his body heat. The Zinja training enabled a man to endure freezing cold for hours. But how high would the water go? Another inch and it would drown him. Or else he would have to try to push that stone slab out of the way, even though he probably could not manage it and even though, if he succeeded in climbing out of the crypt, he would be killed. This was what they had warned him about: it may seem that you are going to die if you do not escape, but you will die if you try to escape. The water stopped rising when only the front of his face was still clear of it. He lay immersed, buried in the total blackness, shivering. How long would he have to stay like this? How long before he died of the cold?
There was a grinding noise above his head. The stone slab was moving.
"Jebu. It's Weicho and Fudo. Come out before you drown." A torch was waved over his head, its light blinding him after the hours-or was it only moments?-he had spent in the darkness. Gradually he made out the shadowed faces of the monks Weicho and Fudo looking down at him. They were a few years older than he, an inseparable pair, known for the slackness of their discipline, which had led Taitaro on one occasion to threaten to cast them out of the Order. Fudo was lazy and Weicho was cruel. It was rumoured among the aspirants that they were lovers. Jebu had always disliked them.
"No."
"It's all right. The Father Abbot has given permission."
"I'll come out when he himself tells me to."
There was silence, then Fudo, the taller and thinner of the two, laughed.
"You're a fool, Jebu. You'll drown in there. The purpose of the initiation is to test whether you think for yourself or follow orders blindly. If you follow orders blindly, you die."
Jebu said nothing. He was not following orders blindly. He was choosing to follow a particular order. He was making a judgment about which orders to follow and which not to.
Short, stout Weicho whispered to Fudo, giggled and said, "Jebu, you are the stepson of the Father Abbot and his favourite."
"I am the stepson of the abbot, but he has no favourite."
"You lie, Jebu. Listen. We know that the Father Abbot has shown you special favour. He has given you the Saying of Supreme Power."
Jebu did not answer. So this was what Taitaro meant when he warned against revealing the Saying to anyone.
"We want the power the Father Abbot has through the Saying. All of us were promised the magic Saying. Otherwise, do you think any of us would submit to this hell on earth of being a Zinja? We know now that only a favoured few actually get it. The rest of us grub out our lives in poverty and misery, living on false hope until we are killed serving the Order. We are not among the favoured, Fudo and I, because we have been caught disobeying some silly little rules of the Order."
Fudo said, "We intend to be miserable no longer. We know you must have been given the Saying of Supreme Power, Jebu. You must give it to us."
"I don't know any magic Saying. The Abbot has been as a father to me only on the days when everyone spends time with his family. Otherwise, he is as distant from me as he is from anyone. He has given me no secret. What you are doing is wrong. You sow dissension in the Order."
Fudo laughed. "You think there is harmony in the Order, Jebu? The Order is riddled with hatred and treachery, just as you are lying to us now."
The Zinja are devils. Was this what it meant?
Weicho said, "Enough of this." He stepped away from the edge of the crypt and reappeared holding a naginata by its long pole, the polished steel blade glowing red in the torchlight. He thrust the weapon down into the pit. "Feel this, Jebu." The sharp point pressed against Jebu's breastbone. He shrank away from it, and it scratched him. Weicho probed at him, pricking his chest in different places till the point of the naginata came to rest on the upper part of his belly, just below the rib cage.
"Tell us the Saying, Jebu, or I'll slice your belly open."
" 'A Zinja who kills a brother of the Order will die a thousand deaths.' "Jebu quoted The Zinja Manual, the Order's book of wisdom.
Fudo snorted. "That book is a collection of old women's tales. You are wrong, Jebu. The Father Abbot foolishly appointed us to guard you. We have only to say we killed you because you were trying to escape from the crypt."
"I don't know any Saying."
"Kill the dog and be done with it, Weicho."
The instant Jebu felt the point of the naginata press harder against his skin, he swung his hand over and struck the weapon aside. With a quick chop of his other hand he broke the long staff into which the blade was set. The curved steel blade splashed into the water, and Jebu felt around for it. He grabbed the broken wooden end and held the naginata blade like a sword. But he still dared not climb out of the crypt.
"Come and get me," he said.
"Come and get us," said Weicho.
"He won't," said Fudo. "He still thinks he'll die if he comes out of that grave."
"Jebu," said Weicho softly, "we can make the water rise all the way to the top of your chamber. Tell us the Saying, or we'll drown you like a kitten."
"I don't know any Saying."
"Fare you well then, Jebu. May you be wiser in your next life." Jebu heard the grinding of the stone, then a heavy thud as it fell into place. Was the water higher? It might be.
He had learned, as had all aspiring Zinja, to slow his breathing so that he would need hardly any air. He could do that now, but he could not breathe under water. The water was now tickling the edges of his nostrils. He lifted his head and wriggled backward in the tiny space so that the back of his head was wedged in an upper rear corner of the stone box. It was an uncomfortable position, but no more so than hanging by his hands for hours in the course of Zinja training, and it was a position he could hold without conscious effort. He began counting his exhalations-one, two, three, four . . . He went into a light trance.
He was riding on the back of a white dragon whose wings beat only once a minute, so powerful was each stroke. Far below he could see the four great islands of the Sunrise Land, Hokkaido, Honshu, Shikoku and Kyushu and the four thousand lesser ones. Then they were over the blue western sea. They sailed through a sky that was clear overhead, though he could see masses of grey-green thunderclouds to the south as if a terrible storm were rising there.
They passed over land. Below were enormous walled cities and palaces with red-tiled roofs along the banks of gigantic, winding rivers. He saw a stone wall fortified by guard towers that stretched on and on, like an endless, twisted bamboo pole, over grasslands and mountains and valleys.
A mighty army of men on horseback swept down towards the wall. All moved as one man, flowing in wavelike patterns over the land below. They breasted the wall like a flood cresting over a dam.
He saw a great battle being fought. The men on horseback met another army of men in horse-drawn chariots and scattered it, leaving the land littered with the dead.
Then the white dragon was drifting over a desert painted gold by the late afternoon sun. He saw the hide tents of savage people and the herds of cattle. The herders, dressed in furs, sat around smoky fires. The animals munched grey-green vegetation. He sensed that the dragon was carrying him backwards through time as well as through space, and that the herders below would later become the terrible army on horseback he had seen in the land of huge cities.
Then he was flying towards a giant.
The giant was taller than the mountains around him, and he stood with one fur-booted foot planted on each side of a broad lake. His head was covered with a fur-trimmed steel helmet. He was dressed in furs, and there was a necklace of jewels around his neck. One great white jewel, larger than all the others, blazed on his chest. His face was hard and seemed like wind-worn rock. His green eyes glittered, and he laughed and stretched out his arms, sweeping clouds aside as the white dragon, with slow, stately wingbeat, flew towards him.
In a voice that shook the earth, he said, "Welcome, little cousin, to your homeland."
Jebu felt himself being lifted by many hands. They stood him on his feet and rubbed him with warm blankets. Shivering still, he tried to fight off those who helped him. He must get back into the water-filled stone coffin until the Father Abbot called him.
"Jebu, awake." It was the voice of Taitaro. Jebu was standing in the crypt, facing Taitaro. Behind Taitaro were the ninety-nine stone urns, and on either side of him stood Weicho and Fudo and the two monks who had brought Jebu into the crypt. Would he ever stop shivering?
"Come upstairs, Jebu," said Taitaro. "You can stand beside a brazier until you are warm again."
Wrapped in a heavy robe, Jebu stumbled up the stone steps on legs that almost refused to move, a monk supporting him on either side. Taitaro led the way. They bundled Jebu back into the main hall of the temple and led him to a pile of cushions beside a charcoal brazier. He sat facing Taitaro in front of the altar. All the monks of the chapter sat cross-legged on the floor, in rows, their grey hoods pulled over their heads. The temple was still lit by candles set in bronze lamps suspended from the ceiling. The sun had not yet risen.
"Tell me everything that happened during the night," said Taitaro.
Jebu began his account, not with his visit from Taitaro, but what happened between himself and Weicho and Fudo. The two sat grinning at him with infuriating audacity when he looked accusingly at them. Jebu went on to tell of his journey on the back of the white dragon and his encounter with the giant.
Taitaro said, "If you see an animal or bird in your initiation vision, it means that animal or bird has adopted you as its own. There is no kami more wise and powerful and fortunate than the kami of dragons. That you rode a white dragon suggests that your future may be bound up with that of the Muratomo clan, whose crest is the White Dragon."
"But what of the giant?" said Jebu.
"As you describe him, he could be either your father or your father's slayer, but there is nothing in the vision to suggest that he is either one. He is most certainly one of your father's countrymen. He must be a powerful spirit. That is why you saw him as a giant." Taitaro smiled. "It may require the rest of your life for you to unravel fully the meanings of what you have heard and seen this night. You have experienced an authentic vision and, I believe, achieved authentic insight.
I welcome you into the ranks of the Zinja. Bring him the robe of a brother of the Order."
Joy flooded through Jebu like the golden sunlight that had bathed the desert in his vision. The wings of the dragon he had seen in that vision suddenly seemed to be his. Still seated on the cushions, his eyes fixed on Taitaro, he soared inwardly. He had passed the testing, and he had at last the prize he had worked for since early childhood.
A monk stepped forward with a grey robe draped over his outstretched arms. Jebu looked beyond him and saw the sapphire light of morning through the open doorway of the temple. The monk helped Jebu pull the grey robe on over his head. The Zinja robe was really more of a tunic, stopping just below the knees. The sleeves came halfway down the forearms. On the left side of the robe was sewn a circular patch of white silk on which a willow tree was embroidered in blue thread. It seemed a simple garment, but it was lined with hidden pockets to accommodate a variety of Zinja weapons and tools. A strip of grey cloth belted the robe. Jebu tied the ends of the belt in the intricate world-serpent knot that the Zinja always used for this purpose. He pulled the hood of the robe over his head.
"Beyond this robe, you need possess nothing," said Taitaro.
In unison the monks chanted, "The grey is all colours. The cloth is all matter. The Willow Tree is all time."
Taitaro said, "Bring him the bow and arrow of the Zinja." Another monk stepped forward with the short, powerful, double-curved compound bow which the Order had been using for centuries, and a cloth quiver containing twenty-three arrows with various heads-willow leaf, turnip head, frog crotch, armour piercer and bowel raker. The monk slung the bow and quiver over Jebu's left shoulder. Glancing at the temple door, Jebu saw that the light in the sky was almost white.
"You are warrior as well as monk, monk as well as warrior," said Taitaro. "Take the bow and arrow with reluctance. Use the bow with dread. Grieve for those who fall to your arrows. But make every arrow count."
The monks chanted, "The arrows kill desire and point the way to insight."
Taitaro said, "Bring him the sword of the Zinja."
A third monk stepped forward with a sword in a plain wooden scabbard and belted it around Jebu's waist. Unbidden, Jebu drew the sword and held it out to look at it. The Zinja sword was broader and about half the length of the swords most samurai used, but it was heavy and sharp and hard enough to cut through solid rock. The handle was longer and wider at the end than most samurai swords. Zinja swords were forged by the Order, using a secret process centuries old. As Jebu gazed at the sword, its polished steel surface suddenly reflected a blazing light that dazzled him. He looked at the temple doorway. The sun was rising. Its crimson edge appeared over the mountainside, silhouetting the pines that grew outside the temple.
Taitaro said, "Take the sword with reluctance. Draw it with dread. Grieve for those who fall to it. But make every blow count."
The monks chanted, "The sword is the Self, cutting through matter and time and penetrating to true insight."
Taitaro stood and raised his arms. "Welcome the new brother into the Order of Zinja!"
Suddenly the temple, always so solemn and quiet, was pandemonium. The grey-robed monks threw back their hoods, baring their heads, and shouted for Jebu. They broke ranks and crowded around him, touching him, squeezing his hand, slapping his shoulder, hugging him. Many were openly weeping. Pride and joy buoyed him up like winds lifting a kite. He was a Zinja. Over the tops of the monks' heads he could see the full red disk of the sun framed in the temple doorway.
Then he remembered. Weicho and Fudo were on the edge of the crowd around him, smiling at him like the others.
Jebu broke free from the crowd of well-wishers and held up his hand. "Wait. Father Abbot, I have denounced these two before you. I demand that you pass judgment."
Taitaro laughed. "I judge them to be consummate actors. The testing by brothers of the Order is the climax of the ordeal an aspirant must undergo to become a Zinja."
"Ours is a hard task," said Fudo. "Our obedience to the Order lies in seeming to be disobedient."
"And our success is failure," said Weicho with pain in his eyes. "If we are clever enough to deceive the aspirant, it is we who must kill him."
Jebu wanted to ask if they had ever killed. He tried to remember whether any of the initiations that had taken place in his time had been followed by the mysterious disappearance of the aspirant. He could remember only five initiations and in all five cases he had not seen the aspirant afterwards.
Taitaro said, as if guessing his question, "After an initiation the newly ordained monk is immediately sent from the temple. The aspirants do not know what has become of him. That way they cannot be sure whether any initiation ended in the creation of a new brother or the death of an aspirant."
"I will be sent away now?"
"Yes. We'll go to my cell now, and I'll tell you where you will be sent." Taitaro smiled. "Then you will have time to say goodbye."
The house of the monks was built of cypress beams, roofed over with bark shingles and screened with paper and bamboo. It was somewhat sheltered from the seaside cliff on which the temple itself perched. Beyond the house was the stable.
Jebu climbed the steps and entered the one-storey building. It was empty, the futons on which the monks slept rolled up against the walls. The shoji screens around the abbot's cell at the north-east corner of the hall were closed. Taitaro was waiting for him there, drawing a screen aside and beckoning him to enter.
Taitaro's cell was empty except for a simple dark brown vase of irregular shape that stood on a low unpainted table in one corner. In the vase was a deep red peony blossom flanked by two willow branches. The screen on the east side of the room was open, giving a view of the pine forest that grew on the mountainside.
Taitaro was still wearing the white rope of office around his neck. Slowly he took it off and placed it carefully on the table before the vase. His dark, tired eyes burned into Jebu's and Jebu realized that Taitaro must not have slept the night before. Taitaro opened his arms to Jebu, and they embraced and stood silently together. It was Jebu who drew away first, his mind full of the unspoken question. What does my father think of me now?
It was Taitaro, though, who asked the first question. "Tell me, Jebu, do you think I should have done anything to make the ordeal easier for you?"
Jebu was shocked. "I would be ashamed for ever if I thought you had done anything like that."
Taitaro smiled. It seemed to Jebu that he looked relieved. "Your ordeal was as painful as it has ever been for any Zinja. But we can't make the initiation as severe as life itself will be. For you, as for all of us, the worst is still to come."
Jebu remembered the words his stepfather had spoken to him as he lay in the stone coffin: the Zinja are devils. "May we speak of the Saying of Supreme Power?" he asked.
"Nothing can be gained by talking about it, and much could be lost that way. You must think it through-live it through-for yourself, in silence."
"Then tell me, Father. What has the Order in mind for me? Is there a task for me to perform?"
Taitaro chuckled. "There are more tasks than there are Zinja to perform them. You will go to Kamakura, a small city on the north-east coast of Honshu. You will serve the Shima, a very wealthy family which holds first rank in Kamakura. They are a branch of the Takashi clan."
"The Takaski," Jebu said. "The house of the Red Dragon."
"Yes. Even though your vision was of the White Dragon of Muratomo, your first task will be in the service of the arch-rivals of the Muratomo, the Takashi."
During his training Jebu had learned about the wars of the two great samurai clans, but now that he had passed through the death and rebirth of initiation, all that seemed rather remote to him. "Tell me again, sensei, why the Takashi and the Muratomo are such great enemies."
Taitaro recounted the story. The Emperors of long ago had had many wives and many sons. The Imperial family had grown so large that its support became an intolerable burden on the national treasury. It was decided to lop off some of the branches, give them new names and some land, and let them fend for themselves. The descendants of Emperor Kammu-he who built the capital at Heian Kyo-were called the Takashi. They took as their symbol the Red Dragon. The descendants of Emperor Seiwa were known as the Muratomo, and their crest was the White Dragon.
No longer dependent on the throne, the newly created families lost the gentle, refined ways of the Imperial Court and became tough and self-reliant. They took up arms to defend their lands against frontier barbarians and against other landowners who coveted their holdings. They armed their servants, who became known as samurai.
Meanwhile the Imperial army had dwindled to a few troops of exquisitely caparisoned courtiers who had neither the will nor the ability to wage war. And so, when there was hard fighting to be done, when great landowners rebelled against the throne, when the hairy Ainu attacked in the north, when pirates made the Inland Sea impassable, the Son of Heaven would call for help from his cousins, the Takashi and the Muratomo. The armed clans became known as the teeth and claws of the crown, and their samurai armies grew larger. Inevitably the two families became rivals, trying to outdo each other in feats of glory and conquest.
Inevitably, too, they became involved in the intrigues around the Emperor. There had always been factions jockeying for power around the throne, and those who failed at political manoeuvring sometimes sought to win through force, with the help of the samurai. As a matter of course, whichever side the Muratomo took, the Takashi would support the opposing faction.
The competition between the Takashi and the Muratomo had turned into a blood feud four years earlier, when the Emperor's brother had raised a rebellion, claiming the throne for himself. The chieftain of the Muratomo clan came out in support of the pretender, setting up a stronghold in a palace in Heian Kyo and sending out a call for reinforcements.
One prominent member of the Muratomo family remained loyal to the incumbent Son of Heaven. This was Domei, captain of the palace guard. He had taken an oath to protect the Emperor, and he believed the rebel brother's claim to be false. Domei was the son of the Muratomo clan chieftain, so his decision put him in the agonizing position of fighting against his own father.
The Takashi also sided with the Emperor. The chieftain of the Takashi was Sogamori, a wily, bloodthirsty and ambitious warrior. Seeing that most of the Muratomo were backing the pretender, Sogamori saw his chance to ruin the rival clan by making war on them. Thus, the unhappy Captain Domei found himself fighting alongside the enemies of his clan.
Domei was a renowned and audacious fighter. In spite of his difficult situation he led the palace guard and his temporary Takashi allies in a night attack on the rebel stronghold. He burned it to the ground and captured his father.
The victorious Emperor now had to decide what to do with the leaders of the uprising. Since the coming of the Buddha's gentle way to the Sacred Islands, centuries ago, there had been very few executions. Those rebels who had survived the perils of battle might expect, in the normal course of events, no worse punishment than exile. The death penalty was meted out only to commoners, and then only when they were found guilty of murder or major theft. Sogamori now shocked the capital by calling for the execution of all the captured rebel leaders.
Sogamori had an ally close to the throne, Prince Sasaki no Horigawa, an Imperial adviser. Prince Horigawa pressed the demand for the death penalty in the Emperor's council. Finally the Son of Heaven decreed over seventy executions. Going beyond that, he commanded Domei to behead his own father, the Muratomo clan chieftain.
Ultimately, another Muratomo relative volunteered to perform the execution, then killed himself by cutting his stomach open.
"What a painful death that must have been," Jebu said. "Why would anyone deliberately do that to himself?"
"It is a new practice among the samurai," said Taitaro. "They kill themselves to expunge stains on their honour. But they don't want it to be said that they committed suicide from want of courage, so they inflict on themselves the most excruciating death imaginable."
Instead of rewarding Domei for his loyalty to him, the Son of Heaven had ignored him ever since, resenting Domei's failure to execute his father. The Takashi, on the other hand, enjoyed the Emperor's favour and were raised to new heights. Sogamori, the Takashi leader, became Minister of the Left, one of the Emperor's chief councillors.
Domei, still captain of the palace guard, was now chieftain of the Muratomo clan. He seethed with hatred for those who had engineered his father's death and his own disappointment. And all over the country small battles between supporters of the Takashi and Muratomo would break out at the slightest provocation.
"It is into this cauldron that I am about to toss you," Taitaro chuckled, "to serve the Shima family of Kamakura."
"What will I do?"
"Lord Shima no Bokuden, chieftain of the house of Shima, is sending his daughter, Taniko, to Heian Kyo to be married to a prominent person there. You will escort Shima no Taniko to Heian Kyo for her wedding. Your party will journey down the Tokaido Road from Kamakura to the capital."
Jebu grinned delightedly. "Heian Kyo. I have been hearing about it since I was a child. The most wonderful city in the land. And soon I shall see it. And the famous Tokaido Road as well."
Taitaro shrugged. "I hope you won't be disappointed. Had we lived in earlier times, then you would have seen Heian Kyo in its glory. Now the city is tumbling down and overrun with brawling samurai. As for the Tokaido, much of the territory it passes through is controlled by the Muratomo. And the girl Taniko is a kinswoman of the Takashi. What's more, her husband-to-be is Prince Sasaki no Horigawa."
"The one who pressed for the executions of the Muratomo?"
"Yes. The Muratomo hate him even more than they do their Takashi foes." Taitaro stood. "Prince Horigawa comes of a Heian Kyo family that has an ancient name but little wealth. The Shima have an inferior name but great wealth and great ambition. Both sides look on the match as useful."
Together Jebu and Taitaro walked out of the monks' quarters. Taitaro went on. "But Lord Bokuden, Taniko's father, is one of the most tight-fisted men in the Sacred Islands. Witness the fact that he is only willing to pay for one Zinja initiate to escort his daughter all that way through enemy territory. As for Horigawa, he is bloody-minded and treacherous, and has worn two wives to death already. And the Lady Taniko is a wilful girl of thirteen. She has never met Horigawa, and my informants tell me she rebels fiercely against the match. She would rebel even more if she had met him.
"You are going to be in the midst of a very interesting situation."
Then Jebu found himself alone, standing at the edge of the cliff with the temple behind him, its peaked roof spreading low over the rock like the dropping wings of a huge bird. The sea wind blew against his face; the rising sun warmed his back. Below, the white-capped waves rolled in as regularly as the beating of a heart, carrying unreadable messages from the land of his father.
The women's quarters of the Waterfowl Temple were set back from the cliff, to the east and north of the main temple and a respectable distance from the monks' building. It was a distance that made little difference, because there was nothing in the Zinja rule to stop the men from visiting the women's quarters whenever they wished. In the past few years Jebu had been among those unattached monks who slipped into the women's quarters at night. There was great pretence of secrecy about such visits, but actually they were condoned by the Order.
As befitted the wife of the Father Abbot, Jebu's mother, Nyosan, had the largest bedchamber on the eastern side of the women's quarters, with a view of the morning sun and the monastery garden. Amazingly, there were no other women in the building, or so it seemed when Jebu entered. Nyosan was sitting with her back to him, watching the red ball of the sun float above the small, wind-twisted pine trees. A singing board, placed so as to warn the abbot and his wife of intruders, squeaked under Jebu's foot as he entered the room. Nyosan's back stiffened.
"Mother."
Nyosan turned, looking at him with anguish and joy, and scrambled to her feet. "I have been waiting. I have been waiting oh, so long. This has been one of the two longest nights of my life." She did not have to tell Jebu what the other one was.
They held each other, and she wept in his arms. "My son, my only son. I died a thousand deaths for you. All last night and the weeks before that, when your father told me the time had come for your initiation."
They sat facing each other. Jebu's mother was not yet forty, but her face was lined and tired, though her eyes were serene now that she knew her son had lived through the Zinja ordeal. She wore a plain commoner's robe, as did all the women connected with the temple. Beside her there was a pot of hot rice gruel, a bowl of pickled vegetables and a basket of cakes. She handed him a cake. Smiling at her, he took it and devoured it in two bites. It was juicy and still warm. She handed him another and filled a small bowl with rice gruel. Except for the cakes, it was an ordinary Zinja breakfast.
"Was it truly dangerous? Might you have died?"
Jebu thought of protecting her from the truth, but instead said, "Yes." When tears came to her eyes he added, "Mother, I am a Zinja. The Zinja are dedicated to death. You must remember that I may die at any moment. Perhaps you should think of me as one already dead."
Nyosan wiped her eyes with her sleeve and shook her head. "Strange. Your father spoke that way to me, many times. When I told him I feared to lose him, he said, 'Think of me as one already dead. I have been condemned, and I await my executioner.' "
"Taitaro-sensei says they are going to send me away at once, Mother."
"He told me. And I may never see you again. But I am thankful for the years I have had with you, even though I know you are doomed, just as your father was doomed."
"To be alive is to be doomed," Jebu said.
Nyosan laughed. "Oh! Ordination in the Zinja has made my son a wise man. He is full of sayings that boom like the hollow log in the temple."
Jebu joined in her laughter. "You're right, Mother. My sayings are hollow. I know nothing."
"How could you be expected to know anything, a boy of seventeen years? You will know something of life if you live as long as I have. I have been the daughter of a peasant, and I became, barely out of childhood, the bride of a splendid foreign giant, rich with jewels. And your stepfather, Abbot Taitaro, he, too, is a strange and wonderful man. He has loved me fully, and I have been very happy. Not that I'm so old. I may be twice your age, but I'm still young enough to have babies. Only, what the monks call karma has decreed that Taitaro-sensei beget no babies. So you will always be my only son. My magnificent, red-haired, grey-eyed giant of a son. Live long, Jebu." She took his hands and held them. "Live long, long, long. Love. Marry. Be a father. Don't let the Zinja destroy you when you are still little more than a child. You are not just a Zinja, to be used and thrown away like a grey robe. You are Jebu. A man."
Above the gatehouse of the Shima mansion the Red Dragon banner of the Takashi snapped and sparkled in the clear autumn air. Two retainers armed with long naginatas lounged on either side of the entrance. When Jebu showed them the letter from Taitaro to Lord Bokuden they called inside, and the great wooden gate, reinforced with spike-studded strips of steel, swung open.
Jebu strode across the courtyard, his wooden-soled sandals crunching on the white gravel. Solid ground still felt strange under his feet after so many days on a deck. He was delighted to be off the trading vessel that had carried him through the Inland Sea and up the east coast of Honshu to Kamakura. Trained though he was to remain calm and meditative, he found the journey extremely boring.
He kept the hood of his grey robe pulled over his head. He hated to see strangers staring at his red hair. His second robe was folded and tied at his cloth belt. His short Zinja sword swung at his side in its wooden scabbard, and his small bow and quiver were slung over his shoulder. He touched the Willow Tree patch sewn on the breast of the robe for reassurance as he approached the main house of the Shima compound.
A steward wearing a grey silk kimono met Jebu and conducted him into the main building of the compound, down a series of screened, shadowy passageways. Finally the servant slid back a shoji screen, announced Jebu and gestured for him to enter.
Lord Bokuden, chieftain of the Shima clan, was a small, bald man with a deeply lined face and a thin moustache. Wearing a gold-embroidered green kimono, he sat before a carved ebony table which Jebu recognized as a costly import from China. On a scroll, he added up accounts with brush and ink. One side of the small chamber was partly open to let sunlight in.
Jebu felt himself disliking Shima no Bokuden at once. He had heard that the Shima were grasping, cold and treacherous, and Bokuden looked as if he epitomized all those qualities. The Shima were a branch of the great Takashi family, but declining fortunes had reduced them to earn their way through fishing, trading and, some hinted, piracy. Having fallen far, the family was rising again. They used their profits as merchants to buy and develop tax-free rice land in the Kanto Plain north of Kamakura. As wealthy landowners they produced samurai sons, and hired bands of warriors. Now they were the first family of Kamakura and were marrying into the nobility of Heian Kyo.
Jebu bowed and said, "Initiate Jebu of the Order of Zinja, here at the invitation of Lord Bokuden." He handed over the letter from Taitaro, which Bokuden unrolled and read with a suspicious frown.
"I suppose that as an ordained Zinja you should be considered a shiké. However, since you are not even wellborn enough to have a family name, I shall address you merely as 'monk.' Has your abbot explained this mission to you?"
As Jebu repeated what Taitaro had told him, Bokuden drew a scroll out of a drawer in his Chinese table and unrolled it, revealing a map of Honshu. "This is the season of storms, and the fishermen are turning to piracy. The season's catch was poor. Therefore you will take the Tokaido Road to Heian Kyo." His fingernail traced the thread of black on the map between Kamakura and Kyo.
Jebu reflected that the trading vessel that had brought him here had not encountered any pirates. But Bokuden undoubtedly knew more about piracy than he did.
"From here to Miya you will pass through country controlled by the Muratomo. The less attention you attract, the safer my daughter will be. Surrounded as we are by Muratomo, we would need an army to protect her if she were to travel in the state appropriate to her family's station. My hope is that you will slip out of Kamakura and get as far as Miya unnoticed. The whole journey down the Tokaido should take you from ten days to a month."
"I will need a horse."
"You have no horse? Are we expected to supply you with a horse?"
"I bring with me no more than what you see, my lord."
"I will supply the horse, and whatever else you need. But if you fail, monk, if anything happens to my daughter, you will die and I will seize all the wealth of your temple."
Jebu pressed his lips together to hold back an angry answer. Like all boors, Bokuden imagined that the Zinja hoarded vast wealth in the dozen temples they had scattered over the islands. But Bokuden was undoubtedly too cowardly to make any move against the Zinja. Surely he knew that those who offended the Order never lived long. In a casual-seeming gesture Jebu touched the Willow Tree patch on his chest. Bokuden looked into his eyes and swallowed.
"Armed monks are a plague on the country," he muttered.
"But they can make themselves useful, my lord," said Jebu. "If anything happens to your daughter, I shall certainly die. Because whoever would harm her must kill me first."
"I hope you live up to your brave words, monk. You will spend twenty days on the road with my daughter, who will have only two maidservants with her. Even if you are rather odd-looking, you are young, and subject to a young man's passions. What guarantee do I have that my Taniko will arrive in Heian Kyo-" Bokuden hesitated "-intact?"
"You are your own best guarantee of that, Lord Bokuden." Bokuden frowned and pulled nervously at his moustache. "What do you mean?"
"Lord Bokuden would hardly raise a daughter so foolish as to give her virginity to a poor monk on the eve of her wedding to a prince of the Imperial Court."
"You are, perhaps, too clever, monk. Go now. My servant will show you where you may eat and sleep."
Jebu laughed to himself as he followed Bokuden's servant out of the courtyard.
Jebu was awake long before sunrise. He washed in a bucket of cold water and passed an hour in seated meditation in a corner of the yard. He made his mind blank by counting his exhalations up to ten, then starting over again. As the edge of the sun appeared at the top of the bamboo palisade that protected the Shima grounds, Jebu stood up and began his calisthenics, a series of movements from position to position that looked like-and in fact, was-a vigorous, complicated dance. Next he drew his sword and performed his sword drill.
Now he could hear the sounds of the household waking up. An attendant in a grey cloak took him to the stable and showed him the horse Bokuden had chosen for him. Jebu examined it closely. It was a brown stallion with no outstandingly good qualities, a little past his prime, but with no serious defects either. He was called Hollyhock. Jebu was to return Hollyhock to the Shima town house in Heian Kyo. The selection of Hollyhock as his mount showed typical Shima parsimony, Jebu thought.
Lady Taniko's party was beginning to gather. Two porters loaded large, heavy packs on the backs of two ancient, wheezing mares. Those jades would be lucky if they survived all the way to Heian Kyo. Servants in grey robes led three more horses out of the stable. Jebu went and fetched Hollyhock. He stood beside the brown stallion, holding his reins. The maidservants, wrapped in identical peach travelling cloaks, appeared on the porch of the women's house. They looked at Jebu, whispered together and giggled.
Apparently the plan was for the women to travel on horseback. No self-respecting lady of Heian Kyo would ever ride in anything but an ox-drawn carriage. Of course, no lady of Heian Kyo would ever venture more than a few miles outside the walls of the capital. It was a good thing the Shima ladies, like most samurai women, were able to ride horseback. A carriage could not negotiate the whole Tokaido Road from Kamakura to the capital.
At last the Lady Taniko came out on the porch of the northern building, the women's house, followed by a group of children and a blubbering, middle-aged woman, doubtless her mother. Lord Bokuden emerged with stately pride from the central building and joined his family on the porch of the women's house. All bowed low to him.
Jebu studied the girl he would be escorting half-way across Honshu. She wore a lavender travelling cloak over a dark red trouser skirt. She had a fine, pale complexion, a tiny, rounded nose, a wide mouth and a pointed chin. Her gaze swung round to Jebu, and he felt as if the claws of a cat had raked his face. It was a surprisingly mature, candid look for a pretty thirteen-year-old girl. There was something ruthless, even cruel, in Taniko's eyes. Her look raised Jebu's hackles and excited him all at once. This baby chick could grow up to be a dragon.
"Is that gangling, ugly monk to be my sole escort?" Her voice was light and slightly metallic.
Bokuden said, "It is well known that one Zinja is the equal of ten samurai."
"If I know my family, it is more likely that ten Zinja are the equal in price of one samurai."
"I would not send you with this monk if I were not sure you were absolutely safe."
"It might serve your purpose better if I were raped and murdered by a gang of bandits on the way to Heian Kyo. Then you would have made the gesture of offering your daughter to the elderly and influential Prince Horigawa and be saved the expense of a wedding."
Jebu chuckled to himself, amused at the way she bore down on the words "elderly" and "influential." By the Willow Tree, the girl was shrewd. She might even be right. Perhaps the two of them were both being thrown to the sharks by this son of pirates.
Bokuden's seamed face was white with anger. "Keep up this disrespect towards your father before his household, and there will be no journey to Heian Kyo and no wedding. You will spend the rest of your life in a convent telling your troubles to the compassionate Buddha."
Taniko fell silent, her cheeks burning red. She has gone as far as she dares go in baiting her contemptible father, Jebu thought. Many times further than most daughters would have the courage to go. He liked her. She was brave. She was intelligent. She was witty. Indeed, she was destined to be a dragon, quite a beautiful one.
Servants helped Taniko and her maids to mount their geldings. The women rode side-saddle. Jebu in the lead, the three women next, and the two porters on their baggage-laden old horses last, the party clattered out through the gateway. The Shima gate shut on the weeping mother, the impatient father, the cheering children, the waving servants.
The Tokaido passed north of Kamakura, and they rode out of the city in that direction. From here on, five lives were in Jebu's hands. He reminded himself that a Zinja acts for the sake of action and does not concern himself with the outcome of what he does. Whether the party got to the capital or was massacred by Mutatomo hirelings within the next mile should be as one to Jebu. Should be, but in fact he was nervous.
The horses' hooves thudded on the packed dirt street. The smell of fish-fresh fish, cooking fish and rotten fish-pervaded the air of Kamakura. Every so often as they rode out of the city Jebu looked back to see if they were being followed. There was no sign of it. Evidently the third daughter of Lord Shima no Bokuden was not of enough interest in Kanakura to attract even the hint of a threat.
As their road climbed into the hills, Jebu looked back at Kamakura. It was a city dominated by the sea; the heart of the city was clearly the collection of wharves and warehouses at the crescent-shaped water front, and its pulse-beat was the arrival and departure of its big fishing fleet. Ringing the dock area were humble houses of the fisherfolk and those who worked on the wharves. Beyond them were the larger houses of the owners of ships and warehouses and of those who had grown wealthy trafficking in each season's catch. But at the outermost edge of the city, rising into the hills and far from the docks, were the newly built mansions of the great lords who were moving into Kamakura from the north, great landowners like Lord Bokuden, whose estate, as befitted the first family of Kamakura, was visible from a long distance, the red Takashi banner standing out against the dark green trees growing near it.
Jebu noticed that Taniko was riding beside him. She never glanced back at her childhood home but kept her face resolutely turned forward. Perhaps the long journey ahead frightened her. Jebu turned to her with a smile and said, "Kamakura is as important in this part of the country as Heian Kyo is in the south."
Taniko's piercing black eyes glared at him. "Of what interest is the opinion of a ragged monk of an obscure order who has doubtless never poked his long nose out of the monastery before? Keep to yourself and do not speak to me again. I have troubles enough."
"In my Order we say, he who thinks himself a victim, makes himself a victim. But if you choose to consider yourself a person of many troubles, my lady, I wish you joy in your choice. And I respect your wish to brood over your sorrows in solitude." He spurred Hollyhock up the path ahead.
He felt not the least bit angry; he still liked the girl. In fact, that had been a rather neat touch, the business about his long nose. She was a keen observer; the nose was one of the things he'd inherited from his foreign father. Jebu felt pleased with himself that his Zinja training enabled him to remain calm and cheerful in the face of hostility from others. He hoped Taniko would not fret constantly about her grievances, though. That would be a heavy burden to carry all the way to Heian Kyo.
That night they stopped at the country home of one of Lord Bokuden's allies. From her baggage Taniko took the pillow she had slept on ever since she was a little girl. Its paint worn, its corners chipped, the wooden headrest gave Taniko a warm, safe feeling, just as a cherished doll or a favourite sleeping robe might give to another girl. In the pillow was a concealed drawer, its edges made to look like ornamental carving. Taniko opened the drawer and took out a notebook, its carved wood covers bound with decorative red and gold string. Also in the drawer were a brush, an ink stick and an ink stone. Using water she had brought with her to the bedchamber in a soup bowl, Taniko began to rub the stick on the stone to make ink.
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
People who cannot think for themselves are in the habit of saying autumn is the most beautiful season of the year. I think it is too sad to be beautiful. I do not, like so many silly young girls, think sad things are beautiful. I see the lines of ducks flying overhead and think to myself that they are deserting us. They fear the coming of the cold that kills. I hear the murmuring of the insects in the woods and think to myself that soon they will all freeze to death.
And for my life, too, the summer is over. I am to become the wife of a man whom I have never seen, but who, I have heard, is old and cruel. Like winter, he will chill me through and through. But this also means I leave the rustic backwater, of Kamakura to live in the city I have always longed to see, the capital, Heian Kyo. To see and walk among the exalted people who rule this Sunrise Land! It has always been my dream to move among the great ones. If I must suffer a misconceived marriage in order to climb above the clouds, I am willing to pay that price.
My father, it seems, is unwilling to pay much to ensure that I travel safely, judging by the strange youth he has hired to protect me. One hears dark tales about this sinister Order of Zinja, that their warriors are aided by evil spirits and that no one is safe from them. One also hears interesting things about the goings-on between the Zinja monks and their temple women. I wonder if this one has ever been a lover. He is so huge and of such an odd colour. I would be afraid to let him near me. But if he were near me I would be afraid to refuse him whatever he wished. There is something pleasurable in the thought of a man who makes one feel helpless. The Zinja monk's presence makes this journey far more interesting.
-Seventh Month, twenty-third day
YEAR OF THE DRAGON
The white cone seemed to block out half the sky. Every time Jebu looked at it, he gasped again. He had never seen a mountain of this size. No one had warned him that on this journey he would behold such a marvel.
He had seen it from a distance as they rode into the hills above Kamakura, but then it was small and far off. As they crossed the neck of the Izu Peninsula he began to grasp its size. Its simple symmetry astonished him; the way its snowy peak reflected the colours of the day, from rose to white to gold, brought tears to his eyes. But it was only today, approaching Hara, that he had a full sense of the silent volcano's immensity. Yesterday he had spoken to no one of his feelings about the mountain. Today, as it happened, the Lady Taniko was riding beside him. He overcame his hesitancy and addressed her.
"Please, my lady, what is the name of that magnificent mountain?"
She turned to him slowly, her face a mask of exaggerated surprise and contempt. "You mean you've never heard of Fuji-san? Truly, the Zinja are ignorant as well as poor and miserable."
She lowered her head so that the brim of her circular sedge hat hid her eyes. She pulled her horse's head around abruptly and trotted back down the road towards her maids. The sudden movement startled two cranes in the near-by reeds, and they flapped upwards until they were two tiny silhouettes in the sky above Mount Fuji.
The journey down the coast was slow. No one spoke to Jebu. Taniko and her maids apparently considered him beneath their notice, and the porters were afraid of him. The days were punctuated only by frequent rainstorms and the necessity of passing innumerable toll barriers. Every so often the road would disappear altogether, and they would have to pick their way along boulder-strewn beaches or through pathless woods.
The baggage included a small tent, which the ladies used for sleeping outdoors and as a shelter in wet weather. Jebu and the two porters took turns standing watch when the party slept out of doors. When possible they stayed at monasteries or at the homes of Lord Bokuden's friends, several of whom had built castles overlooking the Tokaido.
One sunny afternoon, eight days after they set out, they were riding single file along a hillside that rose sheer out of the sea, when the porter leading the way suddenly threw up his hands. He fell from his horse, rolled over and over down the hill, arms and legs flailing, and disappeared with a great splash amid the brown rocks and blue-white breakers. Jebu got a glimpse, as the man fell, of the grey and white feathers of an arrow protruding from his chest.
Jebu clenched his fists and ground his teeth with rage. He had failed. Because he had chosen this particular afternoon to bring up the rear, he had let the porter ride to his death. A life that had been in his keeping was lost. He shut his eyes momentarily and reminded himself that a Zinja is aware at all times of his own perfection, regardless of circumstances. Then, shaking his head angrily, he spurred Hollyhock up the path to put himself between the rest of the party and the attacker.
Blocking the road was a big samurai in box-shaped, many-plated leather armour, mounted on a black roan horse. In one hand he held his longbow-a bow that must have required three men to bend it for stringing. Beside him stood three tsuibushi, each holding the foot soldier's favourite weapon, the long-handled naginata.
Jebu estimated that the samurai was not quite as tall as he was. Bareheaded, he wore his greasy hair pulled back tightly and tied in the round black knot of hair by which the samurai identified themselves. His beard was raggedly trimmed. He had the pink eyes and permanent flush of the heavy sake drinker. Jebu recognized the type at once: a rustic bully, too in love with fighting and drinking to settle down to farm work. Doubtless the terror of the neighbourhood when young, enjoying his pick of the girls. One who might easily have become an outlaw but who, through some accident of birth or social connection, was made a local official and could legally prey upon the peasants. Growing more cruel, more dangerous, more unpredictable as he got older and the futility and boredom of his life began to eat at him. At bottom, most samurai were like this man, though some were born to greater wealth, were more competent in the arts of fighting, travelled farther and did better for themselves than others. The samurai saw themselves as noble and redoubtable warriors. The Zinja saw them as destructive, dangerous and stupid, like small boys whose parents have foolishly permitted them to play with knives.
Jebu reined up Hollyhock a short distance from the samurai and his men and said, "You have murdered an unarmed man. You will answer for it to the oryoshi of this district. We will demand justice."
The samurai laughed and struck his leather-armoured chest with a gauntleted fist. "Then you must demand it from me. I'm the oryoshi here. I enforce the law in this place."
The words and the man's bearing made it clear: they would have to fight. Jebu began to compose himself in the Zinja manner. Your armour is your mind. A naked man can utterly demolish a man clad in steel. Rely on nothing but the Self. Here it was, his first combat, the moment towards which his life had pointed for the last seventeen years. The bottom of his stomach felt hollow. Yet, for a Zinja, every combat was the first, and the first was like every other. So they said in the monastery.
Now he would see. Now he would have to try to kill a man. He had been trained to do it. He knew ten thousand ways to kill. But could he really do it?
He heard hoofbeats on the stony road behind him. Taniko's metallic voice said, "That man you killed was a servant of Lord Shima no Bokuden of Kamakura. You will answer to Lord Bokuden and his allies, oryoshi."
Jebu kept his eyes on the samurai. "Get back, my lady, back behind everyone else."
"I am responsible for my father's servant."
"And I am responsible for you. Back. Now." He admired her courage. It was what he expected, having seen her confront her father.
The samurai smiled broadly. Several of his front teeth were missing; others were yellow. "Your father's name means nothing here, my lady. This is Muratomo territory, and I am their ally. We are the only true warriors in the land, living and dying by the sword. We're not effeminate courtiers like the Takashi. How typically Takashi for your father to send you this way with no more escort than a monk armed with a sewing needle. Armed monks are fit only to clean fish. I'll kick this monk into the sea where he belongs, and then I'll take charge of you, little lady."
Jebu said, "If you force me to fight, one of us will die. Perhaps both of us. Perhaps others, too."
"Either kill him or be killed yourself," Taniko said. "That's what my father hired you for. Don't sit there and argue."
"I'm obliged by the rule of my Order to warn him."
The samurai laughed, threw out his chest and squared his shoulders, his armour creaking and rattling. "Warn me? Warn me? I am Nakane Ikeno, son of Nakane Ikenori, who put down the Abe in the land of Oshu and slew Abe Sadato, their champion. I am the grandson of Nakane Ikezane, who fought against Takashi Masakado, captured him and sent his rebellious head back to Heian Kyo. I am the great-grandson of-"
Jebu, sitting easily in his saddle with his reins loose and his fists on his hips, interrupted. "You are an ape and the son of an ape and the grandson of an ape. As for me, I am nothing. I have no family name. My father was an unknown in the Sunrise Land. I have done nothing. I come from nowhere and I go nowhere." Jebu touched the Zinja emblem on his chest. Ikeno's eyes flickered to the blue and white circle of silk and widened slightly. Jebu went on, "I want nothing and I fear nothing. If you kill me you will have accomplished nothing, and no one will care. Let us pass."
"Am I supposed to be terrified because you're a Zinja, boy? The Zinja are cowards who kill by stealth. And you're a coward, or you'd challenge me like a man. Why should I give way before someone who calls himself nothing?"
"Air is nothing. Yet a windstorm can destroy a city. Stand aside, ape." Even as he spoke, Jebu repeated to himself the sayings that quieted his mind and filled his body with the power of the Self. Rely on nothing under heaven. You will not do the fighting. The Self will do the fighting.
Ikeno bellowed, "You dare call me an ape and insult my ancestors? I'll see you die a shameful death. You will not be burned or buried. Your body will lie above ground to be eaten by dogs, and your bones will be bleached in the rain and the sun."
"The lickspittles of the Muratomo can kill only unarmed porters." Now Jebu was deliberately goading Ikeno.
Ikeno's long, heavy sword flashed out of its scabbard with a hiss, and he spurred his horse. Jebu remained where he was until Ikeno was upon him. Then, as Ikeno's sword came around, he threw himself flat on Hollyhock's back, hugging the horse's neck, and the samurai sword whistled through the air above him. Jebu heard the screams as Ikeno's horse hurtled on towards the remaining porter and the three women, who all turned their horses and fled from him. Ikeno was far down the narrow path, still waving his sword over his head, before he could stop his horse, turn around and come back for a second try at Jebu.
Jebu glanced at Ikeno's three tsuibushi. They stood open-mouthed and staring, showing no interest in joining the fight.
With a rattle of hooves Ikeno was on him again. Jebu jerked his horse to one side and Ikeno thundered harmlessly past, the sword slashing through empty air. I told you I was nothing, thought Jebu.
Cursing, Ikeno jumped down from his horse and threw the reins to one of the tsuibushi. He ran at Jebu, reaching with leather-gloved hand to pull him down from the saddle. Without any prompting from Jebu, Hollyhock reared back on his hind legs, and Ikeno had to halt his rush and jump back to avoid the flailing front hooves. Jebu felt waves of pleasure rising within him and radiating out to Hollyhock, to Ikeno, to the mountain, to the ocean. They were all part of one stately dance, and time seemed to slow so that he was able to turn his head and look for Taniko. As he expected she was looking at him at the same instant, just as Hollyhock had known exactly when to rear up and check Ike-no's attack. Taniko's eyes, wide with awe and fascination, looked straight into Jebu's, and he saw what Taitaro meant when he said that the eyes are more beautiful than any jewel. And he knew that the Self was looking at the Self. They both turned away at the same moment and he found himself looking into Ikeno's bloodshot eyes, full of anger and befuddlement. Jebu felt compassion for Ikeno. You do not know who you are, he thought.
He drew the short Zinja sword, which Ikeno had called a sewing needle. It was small indeed, compared to Ikeno's sword. He swung his leg over the saddle and dropped lightly to the ground. Ikeno gripped his sword with both hands, holding it before him in the samurai attack stance, and took a step towards Jebu.
"I'll slice that smile off your face and your head from your body, monk."
Ikeno lifted his great sword over his head to bring it down on Jebu. At that same moment, taking three quick steps towards Ikeno, Jebu drew his own blade back, one-handed, then whipped it around in an arc completed so quickly the sword seemed at one moment to be poised over Jebu's right shoulder and at the very next to be beside the left. Jebu relaxed, dropping his hands to his sides. He knew he had killed Ikeno.
Ikeno stood silent and motionless, the long, gleaming blade raised to shoulder height, still tightly gripped in his gloved hands. The anger in the samurai's face faded, became horror, then agony. The mouth fell open. The eyelids fluttered. The sword fell from the hands with a clang, and the hands dropped limply. The whole body began to lean forward, falling from the feet. A thin ring of bright red appeared around the dirty brown neck.
Then, suddenly, the head separated from the shoulders and fell to the dirt and stones of the path. Blood fountained up, hissing, from the stump of the neck. The body stood like a pillar for a moment longer, then collapsed with a crash of steel and leather on top of the severed head.
The three tsuibushi dropped their naginatas, screamed and ran. Unhurriedly, Jebu strode back to Hollyhock, took his small bow from its saddle mount, nocked an arrow with a willow leaf head and fired. One of Ikeno's men fell with the arrow between his shoulder blades. Jebu dropped a second man with another willow-leaf arrow. The third man turned at the edge of the pine forest, fell to his knees and raised his hands in supplication.
Jebu took a coil of hempen rope from his saddlebag and strode up the hill to where the trembling man knelt.
"Please don't kill me, shiké," the man quavered. He was cross-eyed, and Jebu couldn't hold either eye with his own. What would Taitaro say about these jewels?
"Come over here." Jebu motioned towards a big maple. When he stood under the tree, he cut off a length of rope with his sword and tied the man's hands behind him.
Taniko rode over to them, her horse's hooves thudding softly on the mossy hillside. "What are you going to do to him?"
"Cut his head off."
The man screamed and fell to his knees again. "Oh, no, shiké, don't kill poor Moko. I have five children. I meant you no harm. Ikeno made me come with him. Moko's no soldier. He's just a poor carpenter."
"A cross-eyed carpenter?" said Taniko. "I'd like to see what sort of houses you put up."
Moko tried to grin. His two upper front teeth were missing. There was a rare beauty in his ugliness, Jebu thought. In the space of a minute he had gone from thinking of this man as just another enemy tsuibushi to seeing him as a likeable person. I'd really rather not have to kill him at all, Jebu thought.
"I'd surprise you, my lady," Moko said. "I'm a good carpenter. Please ask this great shiké to have mercy on me. Compassionate lady, you wouldn't want my six children to starve."
"Do spare him, Jebu. He's harmless."
"Harmless? He'll be back tonight with a gang of cut-throats." Good, she's on Moko's side, too, he thought. I'll let her talk me out of it.
"No, I won't, shiké. Lord Nakane Ikeno was the only real fighter around here. That's why he was the oryoshi. He forced the rest of us to follow him. None of us men would go out to fight if he hadn't threatened to kill us. I promise you, nobody will come to avenge Lord Ikeno, may his soul inhabit a nightsoil jar-begging your pardon, compassionate lady."
"Jebu, I'm going to be married. I don't want the memories of my wedding marred by an act of cruelty."
"I thought you considered your marriage to the prince a cruelty in itself," Jebi said dryly.
"You are impertinent, monk. I do not want this man's ghost haunting me."
"Why should he haunt you? You will not do him any harm."
"You are my escort. Therefore I am responsible for what you do."
"I am impressed by your sensitivity, my lady. To spare you any pain, I shall spare this man's life." He turned to the kneeling carpenter. "All right. You may live. But you must transport Lady Taniko's baggage to Heian Kyo, replacing the porter that samurai murdered. If you run away, I'll track you down and kill you."
His hands still bound, Moko threw himself flat on his face at Jebu's feet. "Thank you, shiké, thank you. I'll go anywhere you say. To China, if need be."
Taniko said, "What about your five children? Or is it six? Surely they would starve if you went to China."
Moko raised his head and gave Taniko a gap-toothed, cross-eyed grin. "No children, my lady. I'm so ugly no woman would have me. So, no children. A man like me, a mere carpenter of no honour, will say anything to save his life."
Jebu kept his face severe as he cut Moko's hands free with his sword. This man was going to be a blessing from the kami. A man who could be amusing in the face of death was bound to be a better travelling companion than any of the members of the Shima party had so far proved to be.
Thanking Taniko and Jebu many times over, Moko ran off to join the surviving porter and the maids.
"I hope your kindness doesn't bring trouble down on us later on," Jebu said to Taniko.
Jebu was so tall and Taniko so tiny that even though he was on foot and she on horseback, their eyes met almost on a level. She smiled at him for the first time.
"You are a remarkable fighter, Jebu. I've never seen anything like the way you killed that Muratomo lout. When you were fighting him your eyes met mine and I felt something-I cannot describe it. Perhaps some day I will be able to express it in a poem. For now, I want to apologize for my rude words to you. I didn't want you to spoil my new appreciation of you by killing a helpless man."
Jebu was pleased, but he kept up the pose of the stern warrior. "An egg is helpless, but it may hatch a deadly serpent."
"One thing the Zinja taught you well."
"What?"
"How to be a windy bore." She whirled her bay gelding and rode off, calling mockingly over her shoulder, "Shiké!"
Sliding back down the hillside, Jebu stopped at the body of one of the tsuibushi. He rolled it over and studied the young face, tough and stupid-looking even in death. Yet this commonplace countenance had been in life a marvel of intricately co-ordinated parts. The most skilful artist in the world could not create a statue that could duplicate the delicate and complex movements of that mouth, now slack. And the miracle of beauty that had been this country ne'er-do-well was now ended by a single crude blow from a feathered stick with a metal point. That exquisite structure, its movements ceased, was now already beginning to turn back into slime. Jebu squatted beside the body, his hands hanging limply between his knees. I did this.
In his mind he recited the Prayer to a Fallen Enemy. I am heartily sorry for having killed you. I apologize to you a thousand times and ask your forgiveness a hundred thousand times. I declare to all the kami of this place who witnessed our encounter that I alone am to blame for your death, and I take upon myself all the karma stemming from killing you. May your spirit not be angry with me. May you find happiness in your next life and may we meet again as friends.
He said the same prayer to the other tsuibushi and then to the headless, leather-and-steel-clad body of Nakane Ikeno, the first man he had ever killed.
The safest thing to do with the bodies, Jebu decided, was to dump them into the sea. If the waves cast them up on shore again, it might be days or weeks from now, by which time Taniko and he would be far away from this part of the country. And with luck the bodies would be eaten by fish and never seen again.
As if reading his thoughts, Moko came to stand beside him and said, "I make bold to tell the shiké, this oryoshi stood well with the Muratomo. If it became known who killed Ikeno, the shiké would have powerful enemies."
"You give me a reason to kill you."
"You already have reasons, and you have decided not to kill me. My life is in your hands at all times."
Jebu led Moko and the porter in prayers over each body. Then they rolled the bodies down the hill and dropped them into the white foam.
Ikeno was the last. The porter protested. "This armour is worth a lot."
"It was worthless to him," said Jebu, even as he admired the pattern of orange silk lacings that lashed together the leather and steel strips of armour. "And it is easily recognized. If we were found carrying Ikeno's armour, it might be embarrassing for us."
"At least keep the sword, shiké," said Moko. "A sword is a thing of beauty. It has a soul. The art of a master swordsmith has gone into forging it, and the Fox Spirit has presided over its creation. It would be a shame, a blasphemy, to throw it into the sea to rust."
"You are almost a poet, Moko. Very well, I'll keep the sword." Moko unbelted the scabbard and gingerly picked up the shining weapon that lay where Ikeno had dropped it. Jebu took the sword from Moko and examined it.
A shadowy temper line ran along the blade where the hard steel of the edge met the flexible steel of the core. The swordsmith had worked the temper line into a decorative pattern reminiscent of bamboo leaves. There was writing engraved on the blade as well.
"There is nothing between heaven and earth that man need fear who carries at his side this magnificent blade."
Jebu shook his head. Foolish. Such words taught the samurai to rely on his sword and throw away his life. Far wiser was the Zinja maxim: rely on nothing under heaven. He handed the sword to Moko. He might send it, he thought, to his mother and Taitaro.
"I'll pack it in the baggage for you and no one will see it till you want it again," said Moko.
And so Ikeno, his armour, his bow and his head, but not his sword, all went into the sea. Jebu slapped Ikeno's black roan on the rump and sent it galloping up the Tokaido Road to the north-east, away from Ikeno's village.
The three men and three women hurried down the coast, riding as rapidly as they could, avoiding houses and villages and hiding in the forest whenever there was a chance of meeting someone on the road. Still not sure whether Moko might betray them, Jebu did not give him a watch to stand, but divided the night between himself and the Shima porter.
The day after the fight with Nakane, they were riding over grassy hills when Taniko drew alongside him.
"The company of those women has become such a trial. They have been my servants all my life, and there is nothing they can say that I have not heard a hundred times before."
"You have mentioned that I, too, can be boring."
"At least you say things I haven't heard before."
Jebu smiled at her. "I sympathize. I've had no one to talk to but myself since we began this journey. And I know myself better than you know your maids. I find myself even more tiresome company." He and Taniko had warmed towards each other. It was obviously the killing of the samurai that had won her over to him. Well, what of that? Some good must come from every act that harmed someone.
He recalled that moment in the heat of battle when their eyes met. He doubted that he would ever forget it. Today she looked more beautiful than ever, and knowing her better, he now saw that the seeming ruthlessness in her eyes was simply a candid intelligence coupled with a clear certainty about how she felt and what she wanted.
She said, "You are reminding me of my rudeness to you on the first part of this journey. I'll make amends. We'll keep each other company. What bores you in yourself might intrigue me. And you might find me interesting, though I believe myself to be quite ordinary. Just as the bodies of men are of no interest to other men, but are quite fascinating to women."
How bold of her! "I am sure that you are too young and too modest to know anything about the bodies of men, my lady."
"Even so, I can talk to you about such things without fear of seeming foolish. You are young also, and a monk."
"The Zinja take no vow of celibacy." Jebu looked her in the eye. Just because I may not touch her, I need not hide from her that I am a man.
Taniko turned pink. "Oh, I see that I am in great danger. I'd better ride back to the protection of my ladies." Her laughter tinkling in the warm air, she rode off through the high, yellowing grass. He felt such an ache of desire for her that his stomach knotted itself. Was there, perhaps, some way he could manage to lie with her without shaming her, endangering himself and dishonouring the Order?
Next day, after their midday meal of rice cakes, seaweed and dried fish, she was back again, riding beside him.
"How old are you, Jebu?"
"Seventeen. I was born in the Year of the Pig of the previous cycle."
"And I was born in the Year of the Hare. You are four years older than I. That isn't a great difference. I am old enough to be married, it seems."
"I didn't mean to suggest that there was anything childish about you, my lady."
"Quite right. There is nothing childish about me." The secretive smile and the sidelong look left him in no doubt of what she meant. "And since you Zinja are such lusty men, at what age do you marry?"
"Usually not until we are over thirty. If a Zinja can stay alive until he is thirty, he is considered a safe prospect to take a wife. Monks over thirty are given the less dangerous work to do. They are inducted into one of the inner circles of the Order, the teachers or the abbots." Jebu smiled and met her eyes. "But when I said the Zinja are not celibate, I wasn't talking about the fact that we eventually marry."
Her wide mouth, the lips carefully painted a bright red, parted momentarily, and she turned pink again under the light dusting of white face powder. This one had a real problem with blushing. She gave herself away. Then that hard, intelligent look was back, the look that had surprised him the first day he met her.
"In your case I should think paying for a woman's services-if she were that sort-would be the only way you'd get to lie with her."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because you are the ugliest man I've ever seen. You're not deformed, but you are strange-looking. Like a demon mask. Everything is the wrong colour. For instance, your skin is like the belly of a fish."
"The very colour you try to make yourself with your face powder, my lady."
"Yes, but my face powder is beautiful because my skin is not that colour, do you see?" Jebu did not, but let her continue. "Your hair looks as if your head is on fire, and your eyes are the colour of the sky on a rainy day. The whole effect is grotesque and frightening. I've never seen anyone who looks like you. And then, you're so big-you're huge, a monster. If you came anywhere near me, I would run away screaming."
There was a time, a few years ago, when what she said would have hurt him. But Zinja training had taken hold, and he was able to respond with amusement. "All men are the same colour in the dark. And as for my size, some women have found it pleasant."
"You're vulgar, too. There is nothing more repulsive than a lecherous monk. What riff-raff the Zinja must be, if you're any example. I declare, I would sooner make love to Moko the carpenter than to you." It did not escape Jebu that it was she who brought up the subject of love-making.
"Doubtless Moko could construct a tower tall enough to please you."
"You disgust me." She rode away.
A moment later Jebu heard Taniko telling something to the maids, and all of them broke into peals of laughter.
Riding alone and in silence, he thought about Shima Taniko. Her small face with its mobile, expressive mouth attracted him. She was not really beautiful, but then, all beautiful women looked exactly alike. Hers was the beauty of a crooked tree, of an earthenware teacup, of an oddly shaped cloud. A sudden thought flashed through his mind: might he not possess, for some beholders at least, the same sort of rough, strange beauty? He wondered if this were a genuine Zinja insight.
He thought about the look that passed through Taniko's eyes from time to time, a look that suggested something strong and sharp and flexible as a sword blade. Her position might be that of third daughter in a provincial house, but in her own right her strength and wit might rank her first in the empire. He entertained himself with visions of making love to her. His daydreams became so vivid he could feel her small hands scratching his back, her slim legs twined around his hips.
Moko, drawing up beside him, interrupted his thoughts, which somewhat relieved him because the fantasies had begun to cause distinct discomfort. Moko grinned at him, and Jebu wondered whether the cross-eyed, gap-toothed carpenter could be said to have the same beauty of the non-symmetrical, the natural, the stark that Taniko and perhaps he himself possessed. Once again he was grateful to whatever kami supervised his destiny that he had not killed this man.
"Shiké, I wanted to tell you, since we're going to Heian Kyo. I've been there before. I wondered if you have."
"No, Moko. My travels are just beginning. How did you come to visit the capital?"
"My mother's family lives there. It was the custom among her people for a pregnant woman to stay with her parents, so she went there and took me with her when my young sister was about to be born. I do not think she wanted to get pregnant again for a while, so she stayed there for three years."
"What is Heian Kyo like? I'm so anxious to know."
"Very big and very old. But you would think carpenters designed it. The streets are not winding and narrow as they are in other cities. They are straight and cut across each other to form squares, and they are very wide. Some are so wide you could put a whole village in the middle of the street and still have room left over on the other side. A hundred thousand people live within the city's walls."
Moko went on to describe Heian Kyo in detail and to tell Jebu tales of life there. Jebu decided he had guessed right about Moko. The man made a more interesting travelling companion than anyone else in the party. Except, of course, for Taniko.
The next day Taniko was riding beside him again.
"Please don't distress yourself out of kindness to me," he said. "It must be painful to ride next to one as hideous as I am."
She shrugged. "The maids are more boring than you are hideous. Actually, I find your appearance interesting. Tell me how you come to look as you do."
"I am my father's son."
"Well, then, why does your father look like that? Come, come, don't draw things out."
"My father is dead. He was murdered a year after I was born. He was a foreigner. His eyes were green, not grey as mine are."
"Who killed him?"
"He was murdered by a tall, red-haired foreigner like himself, who came here to kill him."
Taniko stared at Jebu. "You mean that while I've gone almost mad with boredom for nearly a dozen days as we creep down the Tokaido on this unhappy journey, you could have been regaling me with the mysterious story of your life? You are too cruel!"
"I thought you would find the slaying of the samurai Ikeno entertainment enough." She was the one who was cruel; didn't she realize it was his life, the story of his murdered father, she wanted to be regaled with?
But a Zinja did not own his life. He owned nothing. He passed through this world without leaving a trace. If she wanted his history for her amusement, he would unfold it for her like a paper fan, and when she was through with it, she could throw it away.
"I'm not the kind of person who gets pleasure out of seeing people die," she said. "But a story, that's different. Where did your father come from? Who murdered him? How did you come to be born?" Like a little girl, she jumped up and down on her sidesaddle with eagerness. "Please! Go ahead! Start at once!"
"My father's name was Jamuga. He told my mother that his people came from a desert place far to the west."
"From China?"
"North of China. They were wandering tribesmen, like the Ainu, who live on our northern islands. They raised cattle and fought among themselves all the time. They were so poor they had no houses, and instead lived in tents made of animal skins. They had no family names."
"No wonder your father came to the Sunrise Land."
"No, he came here against his will, in a way. He was fleeing from something. He came on a trading ship from Korea, and my mother said that he paid for his passage with a jewel worth enough to buy a whole fleet of ships. He carried a dozen jewels like that with him, sewn into his clothing."
"It's a wonder the Koreans didn't kill him and throw him overboard and take the jewels. It is well known that the Koreans have no honour and would not be above doing such things."
"They wouldn't have dared. My father was the sort of warrior who could easily kill a whole ship's crew. He was a huge man, bigger than I am, but swift as the wind and master of every kind of weapon. It was only his honour that required him to pay for the voyage. For a barbarian he was an unusually good man, so my mother says. Anyway, he landed at Mojigaseki and set out for the countryside near by. There he presented himself to one of the local landowners and bought, with another jewel, an estate with horses. With a third jewel he purchased my mother, and the most beautiful woman in the area, to be his wife."
"Where did he get the jewels? You said his people were poor.
"They made war on other, richer people and won. The jewels were my father's share of the loot."
"It is against the law to sell land to a foreigner. And how could any man sell his daughter to such an outlandish creature as your father must have been?"
"The ink in which the laws are written fades rapidly, the farther one travels from Heian Kyo. And this landowner took the jewel my father gave him for some grazing land too poor to grow rice on, and turned around and bought a huge tract of rice land. That one jewel made him rich. As for my mother's father, he was a poor farmer, and his daughter, pretty as she was, was only another mouth to feed. Now he's the richest rice merchant in the province. A few of the wild young men in the area-some who had courted my mother-resented my father's coming and he had to fight them. He was careful not to kill any of them, which shamed them utterly and forced them to move away from the village. He was a master of the arts of war."
"But someone killed him."
"Someone who was a better fighter than he. I wish I knew who it was. And why."
"You said it was a red-haired foreigner like himself."
"Yes. There was a Zinja monastery, the Waterfowl Temple, in the neighbourhood. As soon as my father moved into the area, he visited the monastery and became friendly with the abbot, Taitaro. He would go frequently to the monastery and spend many hours drinking sake and talking with Abbot Taitaro. One day he heard that a giant Buddhist monk from across the sea was coming up the road from Mojigaseki, asking about a certain Jamuga the Cunning."
"The Cunning?"
"Apparently he was called that by his people because he was more intelligent than most. When my father heard that name, he said that an old enemy had come to claim his life. He took my mother and me to the monastery and commended us to the protection of Abbot Taitaro. If he were killed that night, we and his land and the remaining jewels were to belong to the Zinja.
"Then my father went back to the farm he'd worked for the past two years. He saddled his best horse, put on a suit of samurai armour he'd had especially built for himself, and took out a bow and arrows and a sword he had brought with him from his faraway desert country. He waited. After nightfall the monk from across the sea came riding up the road. My father went out on horseback to meet him. The stranger threw off his monk's robe. Underneath was a huge warrior wearing a red surcoat over his armour. They shouted at each other in a strange tongue none of the peasants, who were watching from hiding places, understood. They fired arrow after arrow at each other, and when their arrows were all used up, they rode towards each other and slashed at each other with swords. Both were men who preferred to fight on horseback. At last the stranger got past my father's guard and drove his sword into his throat. My father fell, and his enemy cut his head off. He wrapped the head in cloth and put it in his saddlebag."
Jebu stopped speaking, seeing in his mind, as he had many times before, the scene of his father's death. It did not make him sad. It puzzled and fascinated him. He wanted to know everything about who his father really was; it was more important to him than being a Zinja. One day, he would learn everything, even if he had to travel to that desert land across the sea.
At last Taniko said, "Your father must have been a brave man and a great fighter. Did the warrior in red ride away and vanish, then?"
"No. He had asked many questions before he encountered my father, and he knew that Jamuga the Cunning had a son, and the son was at the Waterfowl Temple. He climbed the mountain to the temple that same night, stood outside the gate and demanded that I be turned over to him. He said it was his mission to execute Jamuga and all of his lineage."
"To kill a baby? How cruel!"
"He didn't know what the Zinja are, and I suspect he must have thought he was dealing with ordinary, harmless monks. Eventually Taitaro got tired of arguing with him and sent three of the brothers out to kill him. He may have been surprised by the attack, but he surprised the Order, too. He killed two of the monks and escaped. Rarely has an ordinary warrior bested a Zinja in combat, and for one warrior to defeat three Zinja is unheard of."
"My father told me one Zinja is the equal of ten samurai. After seeing what you did to Ikeno, I believe it."
"Yes, but this red warrior is not a samurai. I believe that somewhere in the world he still lives and still wants to kill me. Some day I will meet him. I will defeat him. That is one reason why I've given my life to the Zinja training. To prepare myself for him. Before I kill him, I will force him to tell me why it all happened."
Taniko looked at him, her red-painted lips parted in awe. "For a monk, you are quite an exciting person, Jebu." Then she turned pink and wheeled her horse to leave him. Her gelding brushed, seemingly by accident, against Hollyhock, and her small hand, seemingly by accident, stroked the back of Jebu's hand.
The next morning, when Jebu awoke, he found a pale green paper among the arrows in his quiver. The paper had been folded into a narrow strip and the strip knotted around a small sprig of pine. When he opened the paper he found inscribed on it, in beautiful brushstrokes, a poem:
The red fire consumes the desert pine, But the wings of the young waterfowl Soar above the flames.
In the silence around him Jebu heard a redbird singing and his heart hammering. She had made this beautiful thing for him, for him alone. He rode over to her and looked at her and said nothing. As she watched, he refolded the poem carefully and put it inside his tunic, against the bare skin of his chest.
They rode side by side that day, sometimes talking casually, much of the time in silence. That night they reached Miya and stayed at the mansion of a Takashi lord. Jebu asked a servant for ink stone, brush and paper, and in his best handwriting wrote a poem the way Taitaro had taught him, going into meditation first, then writing whatever words came, without trying to think and without criticizing afterwards.
The young waterfowl tries to fly
But a snare hidden in the lilac branch Holds him fast.
The paper the servant had given him was violet. He found a fallen maple leaf of a shade that seemed to suit the paper well, and folded his poem around it.
The next morning he slipped the poem into a box of provisions their host had given Taniko for that day's journey. At Miya the Tokaido was cut off by the sea, and they spent the day travelling by boat to Kuwana, where they could resume the journey by land. From the bow of their boat Jebu watched Taniko walk to the rail, unfold the violet paper and read the poem. Their eyes met and she quickly looked away.
The days that followed felt like a slide down an ever-steepening hill. With each passing moment their party seemed to move more swiftly towards Heian Kyo. The closer they came to the capital, the better the road, the easier the journey, and the more Jebu wished they would never get there.
When he was a child his mother had told him stories of the wonderful city of the Son of Heaven and of the adventures of the lords and ladies of high lineage who lived there. For years he had dreamed of the capital as the centre of all that was noble, wise, ancient, beautiful and rich. To see Heian Kyo had been a lifelong wish. Now it was the last place in the world he wanted to see, because seeing it would mean the end for him and Taniko.
At last they came to the mountains surrounding the Imperial city. That night they would leave the Tokaido and stay at the Zinja Temple of the New Moon on Mount Higashi, overlooking the capital. It was one of the largest Zinja enclaves in the Sacred Islands, housing over four hundred monks. The Imperial officials of Heian Kyo lived in mortal fear of the Zinja monks dwelling on Mount Higashi. More than once the monks had descended into the city to punish some noble who had offended them. The Imperial troops were no match for monks trained in the Zinja arts of combat. Once or twice the Zinja could even have seized control of the capital, but the rule of the Order forbade them to hold political power.
Jebu sensed something wrong as soon as he glimpsed the temple. Where there should have been stone walls and towers there was a heap of broken rocks. No rooftops were visible above the jumbled stones. Telling the others to wait, he rode on ahead.
"Earthquake," one member of a group of monks seated on the tumbled-down monastery walls told him. "Two nights ago the kami of this mountain shook us as a wild horse shakes off a man who tries to ride him. Then it took the form of a shark and opened its mouth and swallowed us by the hundreds."
"By the hundreds?"
"These brothers you see here are all who are left." The monk raised an admonitory hand. "You look shocked. Do not be. It is not our way to let disaster overwhelm us. We pass through life leaving no trace. This is as true for hundreds as for one. What happened was neither good nor evil. It simply happened. We will move on."
"Will you try to rebuild?"
"Perhaps. We will await word from the Council of Abbots on whether to rebuild or simply to join another community. I am sorry we cannot offer you and your party hospitality, but you will be more comfortable sleeping under the stars. And safer. The god of the mountain may shake us again at any time. There is a lovely shrine to the Emperor Jimmu down the road. There you will be protected by the Emperor's spirit. And there is a view of Heian Kyo. Let me direct you to it."
Their path took them out of the forest and to the edge of a cliff. Suddenly all of Heian Kyo lay spread out before them on the gently sloping plain below. The sun was low over the mountains in the west, and it bathed the city in the golden glow of late afternoon. The dark rooftops of the city and the trees from which they emerged, stretching into the distance, took on a purple colour and seemed to float in a violet haze.
Jebu recognized the Nine-Fold Enclosure, the grounds of the Imperial palace, from the many descriptions of it he had heard. It was a town in itself. The gigantic Great Hall of State, with its elaborate roof of green glazed tiles, towered over the other buildings. South of the palace enclosure was a spacious park with a large lake, a hill and a thatch-roofed pavilion.
From the centre gate of the palace grounds an avenue as wide as a river, paved with black stone, swept all the way to the southern wall of the city. Other streets running north and south and intersecting with avenues running east and west subdivided the city into many squares, each a park, each dotted with palaces.
The sunlight glinted on two rivers that ran on either side of the city and on canals and reflecting pools shaded by willow trees. The huge black towers of the gates rose massive, complex and ornate at intervals along the low city walls. In and out of the eastern gates flowed endless streams of people on foot and in sedan chairs, litters, ox-drawn carriages and on horseback.
There was very little traffic through the western gates. The half of the city west of the central avenue seemed deserted and overgrown with trees. Only a few buildings scattered here and there poked their rooftops above the greenery.
Moko reined up beside Jebu. "Beautiful," he said. "As always. That great street running south from the palace is Redbird Avenue. It is so wide that a hundred men could march down it abreast. And the gateway at the south end of Redbird Avenue is the Rasho Mon. That's where you find the thieves and beggars and spies. I used to slip away from my mother whenever I could, to go down to the Rasho Mon to talk to the wicked ones. It was haunted by a ghost a long time ago, you know. A hideous demon that used to make people disappear. But Muratomo no Tsuna cut her arm off with his famous sword, Higekiri, and drove her away."
"Why is the western half of the city so empty?"
"It has been that way for hundreds of years. The ground is soft and swampy and thieves haunt the area, frightening away the good citizens. Everyone prefers to live on the east side of the city. Do we go down there now, shiké?"
"No. It's still a long way off. We'd never reach the gates before nightfall. And from what you tell me of demons and thieves, I'd rather not sleep outside the gates. We'll rest here and go down the mountain tomorrow." Jebu dismounted and bowed to the near-by grotto in a grove of pines where a small, worn figure carved in pale stone, Jimmu Tenno, first Emperor of the Sunrise Land and descendant of the sun goddess, stood guard over Heian Kyo. The Emperor was portrayed as a warrior in full armour, wearing .a bowl-shaped helmet and a ferocious expression, and holding a short, broad sword more like a Zinja weapon than the long sword of the samurai.
The chill of autumn was in the night. Wrapped in a heavy robe borrowed from Taniko's baggage, Jebu lay near the cliff edge and watched a full moon rise like a white lantern and touch the rooftops and canals of Heian Kyo with silver light. Poets, he knew, proclaimed the moon of the Eighth Month the most beautiful of the year, but sad and bitter feelings gathered like a dark pool in his chest. Tomorrow he would lose Taniko for ever. Just because he was young and a nobody and Prince Sasaki no Horigawa was a man of rank. He was not a very good Zinja, he told himself. Those monks up the road could take with calm the loss of hundreds of their brothers and the destruction of their monastery. He should be able to forget Taniko the moment his back was turned on her.
He wondered if he would forget her.
At last he fell asleep.
He woke suddenly and instantly. In the Waterfowl Temple the boys were encouraged by rewards and punishments to steal from one another during the sleeping hours, or to try to catch one another stealing. By the time he was eight Jebu had been trained to awaken the instant he sensed an intruder, but to remain motionless and to continue breathing as if he were asleep. Now he lay, opening his eyes just a slit, all his Zinja-trained senses focused on the person stealthily moving towards him. A small, light person, scarcely disturbing the grass. A rustle of silk, shallow breathing. A flowery scent.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
"Saisho."
"Who is Saisho?"
"My lady Taniko's maid." By this time the woman had crept so close he could feel her breath on his cheek. The moon was high in the sky, but her head and face were shadowed by the hood of a travelling cloak.
"What do you want?"
"My lady Taniko talks of nothing but you. She makes you sound quite interesting, Jebu. Why should she have you all to herself?" Jebu laughed and reached out to stroke a soft cheek.
"Tell me, Jebu, are you as valiant in the flowery combat as you are in battles with arrows and swords?"
Jebu threw back her hood. The face in the moonlight was Taniko's. "The lilac branch," he whispered.
Sighing, he put his arm around her and they lay for a long time in silence, listening to each other's breathing and gazing down at moonlit Heian Kyo. After a while their bodies began to move, their fingers reaching to touch each other under their garments. Jebu gasped as his fingers grazed her smooth warm skin. He pressed himself against her.
"No. Stop."
"What if I can't stop?"
"You must, or my life is ruined."
"Forget the future. There is only here and now."
"The Zinja are said to be magicians. Can you magically restore the gate of this castle if you batter it down?"
"What if I batter it down even though I can't restore it?"
"Then I will be forced to kill myself. And you will be executed as a rapist. And your Order will pay dearly to my father."
"I will not break through your castle gate. The Order commands me to deliver you safely to Prince Sasaki no Horigawa. The Zinja do not betray their Order."
She giggled. "Is your hair red here, too?"
"Yes."
"Then I am glad I can't see you in the dark." She giggled again and her fingers teased him.
He drew in a sharp breath. "Why do you tempt me?"
"There are other pleasures we can share without your breaking into my castle. You can picnic in the castle garden."
She continued with what she had been doing. The lightning would flash at any moment. It had been so long since he'd lain with a woman. The ground under him seemed to tremble a little. Was it the kami of the mountain, or was it his body?
The lightning flashed. They sighed together.
When he was breathing normally again he said, "You are very good to me."
"I did that for my own protection. Now your battering ram is no threat to my castle gate."
"The threat may arise again in time."
"Until it does," she arched her back and wriggled her hips against him, "you may perhaps enjoy the repast in the garden I spoke of."
The lore preserved and transmitted by the Zinja included more than the arts of combat. Through the study of books from across the sea and with the help of the women who lived with them, each young Zinja became adept in the arts of the bedchamber. The Order treated these arts with the deepest devotion, as vehicles for the achievement of illumination. Even before he was old enough to participate, Jebu had been permitted to observe others in the practice of those arts.
The flesh is holy, Taitaro said. No act of the flesh is base or trivial. To fan the flames of desire is to heighten the power of the mind. To invoke the forces of life is to touch directly the light and wisdom of the Self. Taitaro taught Jebu a ritual and a prayer for his moments with women.
Now Jebo's lips and tongue performed the ritual while his mind recited the prayer. I enact this mystery in honour of the Self. I ask the Self to enter into me with its power. Let the Self enter my body through the body of this woman and fill both of us with light.
Taniko started to cry out, then put her hand over her mouth.
They lay holding each other under the heavy robe, his lips against her neck, looking down at the squares of the city under the full moon.
Jebu whispered to her. He felt that the words were not his, but that some powerful kami spoke through him. "I am yours for the rest of my life and the rest of your life. As I belong to the Order, so I belong to you. Wherever you are, call me, I will come. Whatever you need, command me, I will do it. All things pass, all things die, but this oath which I take on your sacred body will not die."
"Oh, Jebu, whatever words are said to bless my union with Prince Horigawa, those words will be dry and dead as autumn leaves. The lilac branch will always be waiting for the waterfowl."
Jebu felt tears come to his eyes. He pictured years and years to come, a desert of time in which he would wander, separated from Taniko.
He must have fallen asleep. When he awoke again Taniko was gone and the ground was cold. The moon had set, and he could see someone standing near by looking over the edge of the cliff. He stood up. There was a pink glow in the east, the glow of dawn. But there was a red light nearer at hand that sent a chill down the back of his neck.
Heian Kyo was on fire.
Looking closely, he saw that banners of flame were fluttering above certain scattered palaces while others, though brightly lit, remained untouched. In the dawn's glow and the firelight Jebu could make out figures milling in the streets and around the gates. Screams and faint war cries reached his ears.
Moko came to stand beside him and turned frightened eyes up to him. "Shiké, there is war in the streets of the capital. A little while ago I heard sounds that made me uneasy. I got up and looked over the cliff edge. I saw palaces burst into flames, men fighting in the streets. Shall I wake the others? What shall we do?"
"We will do nothing until we know exactly what is happening. Let the others sleep. You and I will watch." Jebu squatted down at the cliff edge. He looked over to the dark, silent shape of the tent Taniko shared with her maids.
By the time the warmth of the sun woke the others, a pall of smoke hung over Heian Kyo. Motionless figures could be seen lying in the broad streets and avenues while riders on horseback raced up and down.
Tears streamed down Taniko's face. "Oh, Jebu, it was so lovely last night, and now it is being destroyed." The sunlight sparkled in her tear-filled eyes. Perhaps the eyes are most beautiful when wet with tears, Jebu thought. He felt his own eyes grow hot and wet, and her face blurred. But he was not weeping for Heian Kyo. Her fingers touched the back of his hand.
"You were beautiful last night," he said, "and you are still beautiful in the sunrise."
She shook her head. "For me the sun is setting."
She turned and walked away to join the two maidservants, who were standing before the statue of Emperor Jimmu in the dark green grove of pines. What Jebu felt, he had no name for. A woman gave you pleasure, and you remembered her fondly. That feeling was pleasant. That feeling was no bigger than a forest pool. What he felt now was pain, a pain that almost made him forget the strange and terrible sight of Heian Kyo's agony. This feeling was an ocean. It seemed, at that moment, that life was over for him, that he was already dead. Taitaro was forever saying that we should live as if already dead. If this was what he meant, he was wrong. This was unbearable.
To ease the pain he forced himself to consider the immediate problem. "Moko, you know Heian Kyo. Go down there and try to find out what has happened. Find the house of Prince Sasaki no Horigawa and make sure all is well with him. See whether it will be safe for us to bring the Lady Taniko into the city. Then meet us here."
The cross-eyed carpenter came back after the midday meal. He shook his head sadly. "The beautiful streets of Heian Kyo have become a battleground for samurai. Such things did not occur when I was a child."
"Tell me exactly what has happened, Moko-san."
Moko waved his hands in distress. "It was all over nothing. A street-corner brawl between Takashi and Muratomo samurai. But hundreds joined in. Then bands of samurai took to attacking people's houses. The Takashi samurai burned the houses of Muratomo families and killed their servants. The Muratomo did the same thing to the Takashi."
"What of Prince Horigawa?"
"It was hard to find out anything about him, shiké. If you ask too many questions, people look upon you as a suspicious person, and suspicious persons don't live long in Heian Kyo today. The Takashi have put a heavy guard around the prince's house, though. He is safe enough."
Jebu recalled that Taniko's family was a branch of the Takashi. "Is Lady Taniko's family in any danger?"
"Shiké, everyone who lives in Heian Kyo is in danger today. But the Shima mansion is not among those I heard were burned."
Jebu felt a momentary panic as he realized he was uncertain what to do next. The only thing about this journey he had never questioned was its unchanging destination.
Rely on nothing under heaven.
Now he had to decide whether to take Taniko into a city torn apart by warring samurai or whether to seek uncertain refuge somewhere in these hills. Perhaps he should defy her father and the Order and flee with her in the hope that they might find a life together in hiding somewhere. Just as his father fled his people.
He looked at smouldering Heian Kyo. Whatever he decided might bring swift death to himself and Taniko.
Taniko joined Jebu at the edge of the cliff. Looking around quickly to make sure she was not observed, she took his hand and smiled up at him.
"If you are trying to decide what we should do, please let me help. As you know now, I prefer to make up my own mind."
Jebu squeezed her hand with such passion that she winced, but she did not pull away from him. "What is your wish?"
"That we go forward. We will all go together to the nearest gate. You will wait there with the women and me, and you will send Moko and the other porter to my uncle ryuichi. Moko will tell my uncle to send a carriage for me, so I can enter the capital in proper style. It is too bad that Moko has to make two trips into the city, but if you had asked me the first time you sent him, this is what I would have told you."
They descended from the mountain and returned to the Tokaido. This close to the capital, it was a broad, well-travelled highway. Here on the city's east side, buildings had spread beyond the walls. Temples, mansions and humbler dwellings encroached on the rice land surrounding the capital.
The party passed a park surrounded by a stone wall twice the height of a man. Within it stood three fortified towers, taller than any buildings Jebu had ever seen. Red banners flew just below the protective dolphin sculptures on the peaked roofs of the towers.
"That is the headquarters of the Takashi clan," said Moko. "It is called the Rokuhara. Sogamori lives there with his sons and thousands of samurai. They have added many buildings since I saw it last."
Now they rode over a long wooden span, which Moko called the Gojo Bridge, arching over the Kamo River. The bridge and the gateway to which it led were a continuation of Gojo Avenue, one of the ten principal east-west thoroughfares of Heian Kyo.
As they approached the city's walls, Jebu saw that many of the large stones had fallen out of the pounded earth core of the ramparts which, unprotected, were eroding. He remembered what Taitaro had said about Heian Kyo's having seen better days.
Sending Moko on through the Gojo gate, Taniko and Jebu and their party settled down in a field outside the city wall. Jebu stood guard atop a large stone, his back resolutely turned to Taniko. There was nothing more that could be said between them. Anguish lay like a crushing weight on his chest.
The sun had nearly set when Moko returned leading a handsome ox-drawn carriage, its roof thatched with palm leaves. Five samurai walked beside it. Clearly her Uncle Ryuichi was not as miserly as Taniko's father.
Taniko and her two maids rode in the carriage. The samurai kept their hands on their sword hilts, their eyes darting warily from side to side.
Moko walked solemnly beside Jebu, pulling his wheezing, baggage-laden horse. He had promised Jebu and Taniko that he would remain with her as part of her household.
"I will be the link between you," he said.
At the Gojo gate the party identified themselves to a lieutenant of the Imperial police, a nervous, pale man carrying an ivory baton. He looked incapable of dealing with so much as a band of mischievous boys. Smiling politely at the Shima family samurai, the police officer waved the party through.
"It's a wonder that man was at his post at all," said Taniko's silvery voice through the orange-tinted blinds of her carriage.
To ease the pain of the imminent parting from Taniko, Jebu focused his attention on the sights and sounds of the capital. He had never seen so many people in his life; crowds filled the wide avenue like a river about to overflow its banks. People on foot dodged samurai on horseback and ox-carts piled high with bales and boxes. Every so often handsomely dressed men carrying small sticks would push through the throngs shouting, "Make way!" and then, slowly, an ox-drawn carriage, like the one Taniko was riding in or even grander, would roll through the cleared pathway. People would bow or peer curiously into the carriage, trying to see the great lord or lady within; usually the passenger's silhouette was visible through the screened sides. Frequently these passengers would let the long sleeves of their many-layered costumes trail out through the rear doorways. Jebu heard knowledgeable comments from the crowd, not only identifying the carriage riders but commenting critically on their choice and matching of colours. The people of Heian Kyo talked much and rapidly, seemed to run rather than walk, and often talked and ran at the same time.
Gojo Avenue was lined with willows, the leaves on their trailing branches turning to autumn gold. The mansions along the avenue were surrounded by low walls of white stone, a token hindrance to intruders. But, a sign of troubled times, many of the mansions had new, high bamboo palisades built around them. Others looked abandoned, as if their owners had sought safer places to live. Each estate consisted of numerous one-storey buildings connected by covered corridors and surrounded by gravelled courtyards and landscaped gardens.
Twice they passed mansions that had been burned during the night. The grounds of one were completely deserted. Nothing was left but smouldering ruins. Burnt trees stood like black poles.
The second burnt mansion was surrounded by samurai, who greeted Taniko's escort familiarly. Servants combed through the ashes for valuables and loaded whatever they could find in an ox-cart.
"That was the home of a noble who supports the Takashi," one of the samurai with Jebu explained. "The Muratomo dogs burned it. Tonight we will burn some Muratomo mansions."
Stupid, thought Jebu. People spent years of their lives building these homes and the beautiful things that went into them. Centuries had gone into the making of this lovely city. All to be destroyed in one night by some idiot with a torch. What prize could be worth such a loss?
Taniko's uncle, Ryuichi, stood on the veranda of the main house of the Shima family's Heian Kyo residence, waiting to greet his niece. He resembled his older brother, Bokuden, but was stouter in body and rounder in face, as if life in the capital had softened him. The look he gave Taniko as she stepped down from her carriage was kindly. His manner reassured Jebu as he prepared himself to leave her.
Covering her face modestly with her fan, Taniko said, "Uncle, this Zinja monk single-handedly killed a band of three samurai who were threatening to kidnap me. He faithfully escorted me all the way from Kamakura and brought me safe to your door. I hope you will reward him appropriately."
"How awful that my lovely niece should have been in such danger," Ryuichi exclaimed. "With respect to my elder brother, I knew the Tokaido was dangerous and I believed you should have had a large escort of samurai. But, thanks to the prowess of this monk, you are safe. I will speak to him in a moment. Taniko-san, it is not proper for you to display yourself in the open air before a group of men, even when the occasion is important. You must learn the manners of the capital, my child. Come into our house. Your aunt, Chogao-san, will make you welcome and comfortable."
Without a backward look at Jebu, Taniko was gone. Ryuichi followed her. Jebu turned towards the street. He did not dare look after Taniko. What was between them must remain secret for ever. He felt a hand on his arm. It was Moko. Jebu looked into the crossed eyes and found them bright with tears.
A moment later Ryuichi returned to the veranda. "You have done well, shiké. You have earned the gratitude of the Shima family. How may we reward you?"
Jebu could imagine Lord Bokuden's rage if he knew his brother was offering a reward. "The Order has been paid for my services, my lord. I may not accept a reward for myself."
"Nothing at all?"
Then Jebu remembered. "There is one thing. I took a sword from a samurai I had to kill, protecting Lady Taniko. It is in her baggage. I would like to keep it as-as a memento of the journey."
Beaming, Ryuichi clapped him on the shoulder. "Of course. And you shall have that horse as well. You may turn it over to your Order if you wish, but at least you won't leave here on foot."
Smiling to himself at the thought of Lord Bokuden's annoyance, Jebu accepted.
A row of white stones, intended to represent the Shima trading fleet, crossed the centre of the pond in the mansion garden. Jebu sat cross-legged looking at the women's pavilion on the north side of the garden. The pavilion stood on pilings half the height of a man that kept it well off the slightly damp ground. Taniko was in there, probably being prepared for her first encounter with Prince Horigawa.
Silently Moko stepped down from the veranda of the women's building, bringing the sword and scabbard. They bowed to each other as Jebu took the sword, and Moko turned away, wiping his eyes.
At the eastern gateway of the mansion a servant was holding Hollyhock for Jebu. He opened his travelling case to pack the samurai sword. Under the lid of the case there was a piece of folded, red-tinted paper. Jebu's heartbeat speeded up. He opened the paper and read the poem in Taniko's hand.
The autumn leaves fall,
But the pine tree's green lives on.
In a spasm of anguish Jebu's hand crushed the poem. He wanted neither poems nor pine trees. He wanted the living woman behind the Shima walls.
He smoothed out the poem, folded it again and tucked it into his tunic. He mounted Hollyhock, sadness weighing down his shoulders. He waved to Moko, who had followed him to the gate.
Slowly, feeling that he was riding away from life itself, he rode out of Heian Kyo.
Prince Sasaki no Horigawa made his first courtship visit to Taniko the very night of her arrival in Heian Kyo. Taniko's Aunt Chogao warned her to expect him and helped her bathe and dress in her finest gown and jewels. She washed and combed the softly glowing black hair that hung to Taniko's waist. All the while Taniko protested, trying not to cry and feeling as ill from the loss of Jebu as if one of her hands had been chopped off.
"I have been travelling for twenty days. I'm worn out. Can't he give me one night to rest before he sees me?"
Aunt Chogao shrugged. "He told your uncle that he is extremely busy with matters of state. He is an Imperial adviser, don't forget. Besides, he has waited a long time to meet you. You are lucky to have such an eager lover."
Taniko made a face. Her aunt added, "Of course, he is lucky to get such a beautiful young woman. When he sees you, I'm sure he'll be even more eager."
How will I ever get through this? Taniko wondered. I was sickened before at the thought of spending the rest of my life with the old bloodsucker. But before I met Jebu, I never knew the kind of beauty that could exist between a man and a woman. Now that I do know, how can I give my life to something that is so much less?
For hours after she had dressed, Taniko, her aunt and the two maids waited for Horigawa's visit. Taniko insisted on writing in her pillow book, despite her aunt's protest that she might get ink stains on her fingers or her Chinese jacket. Taniko declared that she had never splashed ink on anything in her life. She offered to stop writing if her aunt would bring her a book to read, but the few books in the mansion, it seemed, were in Ryuichi's quarters, and her uncle was not to be disturbed. So Taniko wrote by candlelight.
At last there was a commotion in the garden. Chogao scurried to the blinds and peered out. "It's him. It's him," she whispered and waved the maids out of the room. She set a tall screen of state with flowered curtains in front of Taniko. For centuries it had been the custom at the capital for women of noble birth to remain concealed at all times from men other than their husbands or fathers. They received gentleman callers from behind portable screens of state. So significant a barrier was the screen of state that a man who got past it usually had no further difficulty in gaining his desire with the lady behind the screen.
Chogao snatched the pillow book out of Taniko's hand and shoved it into the pillow drawer, seized the ink stone, ink stick and brush, and hurried out of the room.
"Pretend to be asleep," came her voice through the sliding door.
There was a scratching outside on the veranda, and suddenly the blinds were raised and a short man with a powder-whitened face stepped into the room. His eyes stood out like two shiny black beans. He ducked his head to keep his tall black lacquered hat of office from being knocked askew.
Ignoring her aunt's advice about feigning sleep, Taniko peered through the screen of state at her future husband. Prince Horigawa's face was small and square, reminding Taniko of a grasshopper's head. A wisp of black beard decorated his bony chin. He fanned himself briskly with a black and white fan, as if climbing into the room had been a great exertion.
"Are you back there?" he said, directing his dry, raspy voice at the screen of state. Yet he spoke only slightly above a whisper. Not very gallant language for a prince come courting, Taniko thought. The sight of him made her heart sink. He was as unattractive as she had imagined. In his beady eyes there was nothing but nastiness and calculation.
"I am here, Your Highness," she said softly.
"Ah, very good, my dear. Let me join you behind your screen, where I can see you and make myself more comfortable." Without waiting for her reply, he skipped around the screen, seating himself beside her and seizing her hand. She had to restrain herself from pulling free of his clawlike grip. Had her aunt left them alone together? Taniko wondered.
The prince patted her hand. "Do not be frightened by my impetuosity, my dear," he whispered and grinned. At first it seemed to her that he was toothless, then she saw that his teeth had been dyed black in the Court manner. His grin faded as, still holding her hand tightly, he stared at her. Starting with her face and hair, his eyes travelled over her jacket and her many layers of skirts and dresses. He pursed his lips as he considered her selection of ornaments and her matching of colours.
"You appear to be as satisfactory as the matchmaker claimed," he said. He gestured at a jar of sake Taniko's aunt had left standing over a charcoal warmer, with two cups carefully placed on either side of it. Taniko poured sake, first for him, then for herself. Perhaps sake would help.
His cold fingertips scratched the nape of her neck. She could not help herself. She shuddered.
"The trapped bird trembles," he murmured. He drew a deep breath and threw himself upon her.
Taniko gave a little shriek as he clawed at her jacket, his face reddening. He seemed almost frantic as he plunged his hands under her skirts, trying to undo his gold-splashed black robe at the same time. Taniko had seen sparrows mating, and this flurried, furious assault reminded her of that.
"Your Highness," she gasped, out of breath. "This haste is inelegant." Recalling one of her mother's bedchamber books she added, "Permit me to unfold the pleasures of my body to you in more leisurely fashion, I beg you. To an inexperienced maiden, the charms of so handsome and distinguished a lord are irresistible, but do not press me so quickly."
"Your notion of the arts of the bedchamber are countrified," Horigawa panted. Inexorably he peeled away the layers of her clothing. In the flickering candlelight she caught a glimpse of his aroused body. It sickened her. She squeezed her eyes shut.
She reminded herself that she should not resist him. Custom demanded that she let the prince have his way. Keeping her eyes shut, she tried to relax. She remembered how, during their night together, Jebu had told her many things about the Zinja and the arts they practised. He said they could take their minds out of their bodies and go on long mental journeys, leaving their physical selves behind. She made herself think of the great white mountain, Fuji-san, that she had passed with Jebu at the beginning of their journey from Kamakura. This ugly little prince had doubtless never seen Mount Fuji.
He was hurting her. He had no consideration for her feelings, no tenderness for her virginity. From his grunting and his hard, sharp movements she sensed that he was aware only of his own need for relief.
There was a searing pain. She gritted her teeth, but she could not stop herself from screaming aloud. It felt as though she had been stabbed in the bowels with a samurai dagger.
Horigawa opened his eyes and grinned at her, showing his blackened teeth again. "Your scream gives me pleasure," he whispered. He threw back his head, the cords in his scrawny neck stood out and his body convulsed momentarily. Then panting heavily, he stopped moving. He pressed his brow, covered with cold sweat, against her cheek, then pulled away from her. She felt wet and soiled. She pulled her skirts down to cover herself. Would she have to spend the rest of the night with this man?
And there was worse. She was expected to spend the rest of her life with him. There would be countless nights like this one. Despair overwhelmed her, and she wanted to cry, but with the little man still lying beside her, duty to her family forbade any show of her real feelings.
"That was very pleasant, my dear," Horigawa said with a small, false smile. "It has been some time since I have lain with a woman. I have simply been too busy. My work at the Court, in these difficult times, has allowed me no leisure. But it is not healthy for a man to abstain for too long. It puts the forces of yin and yang out of balance in the male body. You have made it possible for me to return to my work with renewed vigour."
Taniko felt a flicker of curiosity. "I am pleased to have been of help to you, Your Highness. Your work must, indeed, be very demanding." She added what good manners required her to say. "I cannot imagine that such a vigorous man would wish to abstain for very long."
"Quite right," said Horigawa smugly. He began to draw his dark robes together. "And for that reason I came to you tonight, even though, as you say, my work is very demanding. Although it pains me not to spend the night with you, I must leave you now."
"Will the streets be safe for you tonight, Your Highness? I saw the fighting last night and the burning of houses, and I was frightened." Actually, she had not been that frightened, but she hoped Horigawa would shed some light on what was happening in the capital.
"I appreciate your concern, my dear, but I am quite safe. My friend Sogamori, the Minister of the Left, has provided me with a samurai guard, both for my house and for my person when I go abroad. These disturbances are the work of rebellious elements who refuse to yield to the will of the Emperor. But they will soon be crushed, and you will have no further need for fear."
Taniko knew how meaningless was Horigawa's accusation that his opponents were rebels against the Emperor. All sides in any major political dispute claimed to be doing the will of the Emperor and charged their enemies with treason. Actually the Emperor had no power of his own, and his will was the will of whichever faction controlled him at the moment.
"These rebels, Your Highness, are they the Muratomo?" Taniko asked. "You must forgive my country ignorance, but I do not know."
"Women are not expected to know anything, my dear," said Horigawa.
Taniko resisted an urge to throw her candle at him. Instead she said, "But I find you so fascinating, Your Highness, that I cannot help but be interested in the world in which you move." The fact was that it was only his connection with high places and great political matters that made the thought of marriage to him at all bearable.
"Very nicely put," said Horigawa, rising to his feet. "On future visits I shall explain as much of matters of state as your female intelligence seems capable of grasping. Meanwhile, be assured that we are doing everything necessary to maintain the safety of the realm. More blood will have to be shed. We must deal mercilessly with rebels. We must be as fierce as were our ancestors of old Yamato. Many, many heads will fall."
A chill went through Taniko. She sensed that this pompous creature's feeble frame harboured a thirst for blood almost unnatural in its intensity. As a daughter of samurai she had known many professional fighting men, and none of them had spoken as lovingly of mass slaughter as did this scholarly government official.
She placed her hands on the floor and bowed. "It is an honour to be courted by a man of such greatness."
Tying his tall black hat under his chin, Horigawa turned and let Taniko raise the blinds for him so he could step out on the veranda and thence into the Shima garden, thus preserving the ritual secrecy of his visit.
When he was gone, Taniko turned to find her aunt was already back in the room with towels and a pot of hot water. Taniko sank to her knees and put her face in her hands. Her body shook with racking sobs. Aunt Chogao knelt beside her and put her arms around her.
"Was it that bad for you, my dear?"
"Aunt, I can't go through with it. I can't."
Chogao patted her shoulder. "You have to. Your father commands it. Your family needs this marriage." She stroked Taniko's hair. "I know it's hard. What you have to do is harder than anything I've had to do. I was married to a man with whom it is very easy for me to live. But you, because you must do the more difficult thing, will be the nobler person."
"I can't. I don't want to."
Chogao moved so that she was facing Taniko, her normally cheerful features suffused by burning seriousness. "You are samurai. What you feel does not matter. If you were a man, you would go to war and die. It would not matter that you were terrified of death, that you wanted to live. It would be your duty to your family. Do not women have as much courage as men? We give our lives, too, by marrying as we are required and bearing the children that are needed. Didn't your mother teach you these things?"
"Yes," said Taniko in a small voice.
"Then never forget them. If you do not live your life as a samurai, it is not worth living. Now lie back, my dear, and let me wash you. That miserable man. He should have spent the whole night with you and left at dawn. What sort of lover does he think he is? Oh, well, I suppose, considering his age and all the work he does, that's the most you can expect. He certainly doesn't have much fire left over for women, does he?"
Closing her eyes, grateful that Horigawa had left her as quickly as he did, Taniko said, "I want nothing more from him."
"Good, my dear. Be content with your lot. That, too, is the way of a true samurai."
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
My future husband's next-morning letter was cliched and perfunctory, and his love poem was copied straight out of the Kokinshu. The prince must think we have no books in Kamakura. Even my aunt, who keeps trying to persuade me to accept this marriage, made a sour face when she read his effort. But the letter and the poem mean he intend to continue courting me, and that is what the family wants.
In the bleakness of these days my greatest pleasure is my conversations with Moko. I have convinced my aunt and uncle that Moko is an expert carpenter whom I brought with me from Kamakura at my father's suggestion. My father will never know the difference. Fortunately, there are plenty of repairs needed around this house, and every day, pretending to give Moko instructions, I learn the news he has picked up in the street.
Samurai crowd the streets of Heian Kyo, swaggering about with their long swords. They accost people and demand to know if one is a supporter of the Takashi or the Muratomo. Such encounters lead to blows and sometimes to bloodshed, though both the Takashi clan chieftain, Sogamori, and the Muratomo clan chieftain, Domei, claim to deplore all disorder. There has not been any rioting as bad as that of the night I arrived here.
It was as though the riot in my soul that night was reflected in the streets of the city.
There was a full moon, too. That may have had something to do with it.
Moko reports that Domei has been heard to repeat the old Confucian saying, "A warrior may not remain under the same heaven with the slayer of his father." Since Prince Horigawa appears to be chief among those responsible for the execution of Domei's father, it is possible that I may find myself a widow soon after I am married.
The grounds of the Imperial palace are kept bare, but in winter certain herbs flourish in concealment under the snow.
-Eighth Month, twenty-first day
YEAR OF THE DRAGON
Ten days after Taniko's first night with the prince, her aunt warned her to be ready for his second-night visit.
It was all she could do to restrain herself from laughing as the spidery little man carried out the ritual pretence of slipping into her bedchamber. The blinds knocked his tall hat off his head, leaving it dangling from his neck.
But there was nothing laughable in the way he fell upon her, first blowing out the candle to thwart spying members of the Shima family. This night his lust was tainted with cruelty. Taniko discovered that there is a kind of man who is aroused by inflicting pain on others. None of the small torments to which Horigawa subjected her left any mark, but she was frightened and revolted. He must know, she thought, that my family will insist on my marrying him. Otherwise he wouldn't treat me this way.
After he had worn himself out on her body, Horigawa ordered her to relight the candle so he could dress himself. Embarrassed by the ugliness to which she had just submitted, Taniko kept her face turned away as the room filled with yellow light and flickering shadow.
Horigawa laughed and said, " 'She lifts the lute, and I can see but half her face.' " He spoke in Chinese.
Recognizing the poem, Taniko replied in the same language. " 'The music stops, but the player will not speak her name.' " The line seemed a subtle way to express the shame she felt at what she had undergone. Like the woman in Po Chu-i's poem, she felt she had known better days and had now sunk to a low status.
But Horigawa reacted, not to her line of verse, but to the language in which it was uttered. "Do you know Chinese?"
Taniko answered him in that language. "Our family is involved in trade. My father has seen to it that all his children are educated in the skills that are useful in commerce. Knowledge, he says, can be wealth."
Horigawa pulled his robe around his spindly limbs. "Who would have thought that a child-woman from the provinces would possess such a valuable skill?" He was still speaking Chinese. "Mine is a family of princes and scholars, and Chinese has been our other language for centuries. Do you read and write it as well?"
"Better than I speak it." Actually, she surprised herself by being able to carry on the conversation.
"Excellent. When you are my wife you will serve me as secretary. The trade with China is a great source of wealth for the Takashi, and with my own knowledge of things Chinese, I humbly endeavour to help them. As Lord Sogamori's authority continues to grow, we shall see a re-opening of closer relations with China, which our rulers have long neglected, to our cost. The communications I undertake with China are delicate and require secrecy. It is difficult to acquire servants who have the necessary education and are also trustworthy. You will be very useful to me."
"Thank you, Your Highness," said Taniko, trying not to grind her teeth.
The thought that Horigawa was already planning her future appalled her. She tried to remind herself that many of the women in the Sunrise Land had husbands as repulsive, or worse. It did no good.
As before, Horigawa excused himself from spending the night with her, citing the pressure of his world in the service of the nation. After he was gone, Taniko sat in the dark, crying softly. To refuse the marriage her family had decreed for her was unthinkable. But the prospect of a lifetime tied to Horigawa filled her with such despair and dread that she was almost ready to kill herself to avoid going through with it.
Almost, but not quite. Even in her anguish she felt a deep certainty that she wanted to go on living. And she was as strong as Horigawa; in time she could put a stop to his horrid little practises. He was more than forty years older than she; he could only grow feebler and easier to manage with the passage of time. And in the fullness of time she would be rid of him. She had only to endure; to do her duty as a samurai, as Aunt Chogao put it.
The prospect of working on Horigawa's Chinese correspondence was fascinating. The little she knew about China was information over a hundred years old that had been taught to her and her sisters by monks. How wonderful it would be to learn what was happening to China now.
Five nights later a messenger came from Prince Horigawa, and Ryuichi ordered the third-night rice cakes placed in Taniko's bedchamber. After sunset the prince's ox-drawn state carriage drew up before the western gateway of the Shima mansions without even a pretence of secrecy, and the prince, wearing his usual tall black hat and a scarlet and white cloak, more festive looking than the black and gold one he had worn previously, strode through the lamplit gate, while the Shima family peered at him through screens and blinds.
His performance with Taniko was as brief as at their first encounter. This time, though, he bit her breast at his moment of supreme pleasure. This left teeth marks, which he looked at with satisfaction afterwards.
As was expected of her, Taniko paid him a pretty compliment on his manly strength. Inwardly, she was quaking. They were now committed. She was bound to him. It was his third-night visit, with the ceremonial eating of rice cakes, which actually sealed their marriage. It was all over, and now that it was done she could see no future for herself. She felt a sensation of sinking into a bottomless black pool. She had done her duty as a samurai woman, yes, but might duty not be easier for a man, who died only once and quickly, than for a woman who had to die a little bit each day for years and years?
Horigawa nodded in acceptance of her compliment. "You are fortunate to have a well-born man of the capital as a husband. Think how miserable you would have been in the arms of some rough country man smelling of the rice paddies."
Remembering Horigawa's role in the executions of four years ago and his talk about massive bloodshed, Taniko thought, I would prefer the smell of the rice paddies to the stink of the execution ground.
Horigawa reached into the sleeve of his robe and drew out a scroll. "This is a report I received from a monk in China. I intend to present it to Lord Sogamori. You will translate it into your language and write it out in your best hand. I trust your handwriting is acceptable?"
"My handwriting has been praised," said Taniko, "but it is, of course, only the poor effort of a girl raised in a rustic fishing village."
The sarcasm escaped Horigawa. "Lord Sogamori is a man of some discernment, even though he is merely the chieftain of a samurai family. You must be sure to form your characters as beautifully as you can."
Taniko put the scroll in the drawer of her wooden pillow. She could hardly wait for some time to herself, to read the letter from China.
Horigawa ate the ritual rice cakes with her, honouring Izanami and Izanagi, progenitors of all the kami and creators of heaven and earth. She almost wished her own cake were saturated with poison. Then Horigawa removed his hat of office and lay down, resting his head on the wooden pillow she had placed beside her own. With a wave of his hand, he indicated that she was to blow out the candle.
They slept in the same clothing they had worn all day, as was usual. Side by side they lay in the dark on quilted futons. Horigawa was a restless sleeper who mumbled and moaned as if bad dreams troubled him all through the night. Bad dreams might portend future disasters for Horigawa. The possibility pleased her, because her only hope was that he might not live long. Perhaps he was haunted by the ghosts of those whose executions he'd demanded.
Taniko lay awake most of the night. As she had tried to do on her first night with Horigawa, she sent her mind on a journey-this time to Mount Higashi and the night she had spent there with Jebu.
In the morning the Shima family, led by Uncle Ryuichi, Aunt Chogao and their eldest son, five-year-old Munetoki, burst in on them with the expected cries of joy and congratulations. Having spent three nights together and partaken of the sacred rice cakes they were now officially married. However, Taniko would remain in the Shima household, as was the custom among people of their class, and Horigawa would visit her as often as he chose to bestow his princely favours. Taniko hoped lust would provoke him infrequently. She would go to his house when needed there for ceremonial and social occasions.
Taniko's uncle and aunt each picked up one of Horigawa's shoes. By taking the shoes to bed with them that night, they would try to ensure that Horigawa would never leave Taniko. Each sign that the world wanted this marriage to be permanent made Taniko's heart sink a little lower.
Horigawa imperiously handed Ryuichi a scroll. "This is a list of the guests I wish you to invite to the wedding feast. You will hold the feast on the thirteenth day of the Ninth Month, four days after the Chrysanthemum Festival. My diviners tell me that will be the last auspicious day for quite some time." He took another scroll from his sleeve. "I have also included a set of instructions on how the feast is to be conducted. It is essential that every detail be both correct and fashionable. I prefer not to rely on the judgment of a provincial family in such matters."
After Horigawa was gone, Ryuichi raged and wept. He was furious at the prince's contempt for his family, and appalled at the cost of the wedding feast, which, he claimed, would wipe out the family fortune if he followed Horigawa's instructions.
"Why did you have to marry that leech?" Ryuichi howled at Taniko.
Taniko bowed to hide her amusement. "Forgive me, Uncle. I regret that he causes you such pain. My father commanded me to marry him for reasons that seemed wise to him."
Ryuichi subsided. "We expect the marriage to do us good. But if my esteemed older brother had only let me arrange a match for you, instead of doing it by himself from such a great distance-" He smiled suddenly. "You, also, might have been happier with the result. You're a good daughter, Taniko, to put up with marriage to such a repulsive person."
"I intend to do more than put up with it, Uncle. I have always wanted to live in the capital and be part of the doings at the Court. I have never wanted the lot of an ordinary woman. If Horigawa is the price I have to pay to live here, I accept that price. Perhaps I will do well for myself despite the match my father made."
Her little cousin Munetoki stared at her, his eyes shining with admiration.
On the day of the wedding feast some of the best-known names in Heian Kyo came to see the mating of a major councillor of the Fourth Rank to the daughter of an unknown, but reputedly wealthy, family of the provinces. Taniko had studied the guest list carefully. As the presiding priest, the abbot of the huge Buddhist monastery on nearby Mount Hiei intoned blessings and purifications, and the guests clapped their hands ritually. Whenever she dared, Taniko glanced here
and there among those present, trying to match faces and costumes with the names she knew.
Many members of the Sasaki family and their principal wives had come to sit behind Horigawa to represent the clan. And another old and powerful family was there in large numbers-the Fujiwara. While they were not Emperors themselves, the Fujiwara had held supreme power in the capital until recent times. So many Fujiwara daughters had married Emperors that, among those who dared to be irreverent, the Imperial house itself was sometimes described as a branch of the Fujiwara.
In recent times, though they still enjoyed great prestige, the real power of the Fujiwara had declined. Their strength lay in courtly intrigue rather than force. But these days, with the rise of the samurai families, force counted for more.
Among those supplanting the Fujiwara in national importance were the Takashi, also heavily represented at this wedding feast. They sat in the front row of guests facing the abbot and the altar. Sogamori, chieftain of the Takashi clan and Minister of the Left, was a round-faced man whose partially shaven head was hidden under his black hat of office. He wore a red cloak embroidered with gold and lined with white satin. He looked as florid and petulant as Taniko had expected, given his reputation for bad temper.
The man in a similar scarlet robe beside Sogamori must be Kiyosi, his eldest son. Taniko's heart beat a little faster when she saw him. There was a family resemblance to Sogamori, but Kiyosi was lean, vigorous-looking, and square of jaw. Oh, to marry a young man like that, instead of a spider like Horigawa. Such a young man, she thought, might almost help me forget Jebu for a time.
Kiyosi sat proudly upright as befitted a military man of noble rank. Yet there was kindness and intelligence in his face as well. She suspected that, like Jebu, Kiyosi could be frighteningly violent, gently compassionate or overwhelmingly ardent.
She wondered, will I spend the rest of my life comparing every man I meet to Jebu?
She wondered too what might have happened if, that night on Mount Higashi, she had suggested to Jebu that they run away together instead of going on to Heian Kyo. He was dedicated to his Order, but he was young and passionate. He might well have broken his vow of obedience for her. But she had not asked, and he had not been tested. Why? Because she did not want to give up her way of life, any more than he would want to give up his.
Just as he would not want to betray his Order, she did not want to betray her family. It was as Aunt Chogao had said: she was samurai just as much as any man of the Shima, and if war was the duty of men, marriage was the duty of women. If the men of her family could face the naked swords of their enemies, she could face the bitterness of a life with Horigawa.
The wedding banquet was long, and some of the guests left early while others stayed late. Much sake was drunk, but many of the guests were intrigued by a beverage from China called ch'ai. It was not new to the Sunrise Land, but drinking it had only recently become fashionable. As a wedding gift the Takashi lord, Sogamori, had had nine large metal boxes full of ch'ai bricks sent from one of his ships recently landed at Hyogo.
Sogamori and his son Kiyosi, sitting beside Horigawa and Ryuichi, were among the late stayers. Each banqueter had his small, individual table for food and drink, and each had several attendants hovering behind him. Taniko sat behind her husband and served his food and kept a sake jar and a pot of water for ch'ai warm for him. Horigawa ate and drank little, and most of the time Taniko sat with her eyes downcast and her face hidden behind her fan, with nothing to do.
"I notice you're careful to drink mostly ch'ai, Horigawa," Sogamori said in his deep, hoarse voice. "That's very wise. You wouldn't want to be too drunk to enjoy the night with your new wife."
"I must keep my mind alert to converse adequately with the distinguished Minister of the Left," Horigawa said in a voice as sweet as a plum. "Ch'ai sharpens the wits."
"I'll bet the lady is dozing behind her fan," Sogamori laughed. "This banquet and .all this men's talk is putting her to sleep, Horigawa. If I were you I'd take her to bed and wake her up."
"I'm sure you would, if you were I," said Horigawa. "The minister's exploits in the flowery combat are as well known as his valour in war."
Kiyosi laughed. "As well known, but not as successful, eh, Father? You may have more authority and honour than Domei, but he's bested you in the bedchamber."
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sogamori growled. "Neither do I," said Horigawa.
Kiyosi said, "Your Highness is so conscientiously devoted to affairs of state, you pay no attention to affairs of the heart. I'm referring to my father's impetuous wooing of Lady Akimi."
"You ought to have more respect for your father than to mention such things in public," said Sogamori irritably.
"You should have more respect for your clan, Father, than to make us a laughing-stock at Court." Kiyosi's tone was light, but there was a barely concealed edge in his voice.
Taniko was surprised that Kiyosi would needle his father in front of herself, Horigawa and Ryuichi. She knew quite well what they were talking about. All the Shima women were laughing over Sogamori's rude attempt to seduce Akimi, the beautiful lady-in-waiting who had been Domei's mistress for many years.
Like most of Heian Kyo's aristocrats, Sogamori had many women in his life. Besides his principal wife, Kiyosi's mother, he had a number of secondary wives, each of whom had her apartment in the Rokuhara. Gossip also attributed one or two mistresses to him at any given time. But, just as he was always reaching for more power in the realm, so he was always pursuing new women. Taking advantage of the Muratomo lord's temporary absence from the capital, Sogamori had laid siege to Lady Akimi with flute-playing, poetry, dancing and flowers, as if he had but to display his interest to win her. All this despite the fact that Akimi already had a son by Domei. Akimi adamantly ignored Sogamori's advances and he eventually had to give up. The Court, which had come to fear him, enjoyed the opportunity of ridiculing him. When Domei returned and heard about the incident, he was enraged at first, but ended up laughing along with everyone else.
"The lady showed poor taste," Ryuichi ventured. "How could she prefer a rough, ill-mannered warrior like Captain Domei to a polished gentleman like Lord Sogamori?"
Sogamori looked at him sourly, obviously unimpressed by the flattery.
"With respect, Ryuichi-san," said Kiyosi. "Warriors are not to be sneered at. We Takashi, are we not a clan of warriors?"
Taniko couldn't help but look directly at Kiyosi, drawn by the strong, pleasant voice. She knew it was shameful for a woman to look into the eyes of any man other than her husband, but her growing fascination with Kiyosi, fed by her dislike for Horigawa, drove her to stare directly at him for the briefest of moments. The large, dark eyes held hers, enchanting her. She gave a little gasp and then looked down at the charcoal warmer she was watching over.
Kiyosi held his sake cup out to her to cover the look she had given him. She quickly raised the white porcelain jar and filled the dainty cup.
"Neither gentlemen nor warriors should concern themselves with idle Court gossip," said Horigawa sententiously.
"You need not interest yourself in women of the Court," said Sogamori. "Your own wife far outshines Akimi in beauty." He raised his sake cup towards Taniko and drank. She felt a chill of fear at the undertone of lechery in his voice.
Horigawa said with faint contempt, "She is merely a young girl of provincial family, not used to the ways of the capital."
"She is of good family, related to the Takashi," Sogamori retorted. "You forget yourself at times, Horigawa. Or else you forget who I am. Your wife will learn the ways of the capital. The courtiers laughed at my father for his clumsy dancing when he visited the great temples, but I was born here in Heian Kyo and my father saw to it that I studied under the finest dancing masters. Now, when I dance before the gods, no one laughs at me."
"No one would dare," said Kiyosi wryly. "You'd have their heads."
"Is it not this little wife of yours who translated the letter from China for me?" Sogamori asked. "Her handwriting is exquisite." Horigawa bowed as if he himself had been complimented.
He squints like an old ape, Taniko thought. She screened her face with her fan, conscious of Kiyosi smiling at her.
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
Old Squint-Eyes has arranged for me to be appointed a lady-in-waiting to the Empress, a unique honour for a girl born and raised so far from the capital. I am to be presented at Court on the first day of the Eleventh Month, as soon as the inauspicious Tenth Month, during which the kami are absent, is over. Uncle Ryuichi is tearing his garments over the cost of my new wardrobe, but I have promised that whenever I can I will pass on secrets of the China trade. One good investment will repay the cost of my Court robes many times over.
I have already learned a number of fascinating things about China, just from the three letters I have now translated for my husband. For one thing, there are two Chinas, a northern China, also called Cathay, which is ruled by ferocious barbarians, and a southern China, which is governed from Linan by an Emperor of the Sung dynasty.
The barbarians, known as Mongols, who rule Cathay have conquered many kingdoms to the north and west of China. They were making war on the Sung Emperor, but they stopped three years ago, when their own Emperor, whom they call Great Khan, died. When their Great Khan dies these Mongols immediately cease all warfare until they have chosen a new ruler. They choose their Emperors at a great council of the Mongol chieftains. A strange and frightening people.
As for me, I cannot wait to take up my duties at Court.
-Ninth Month, twentieth day
YEAR OF THE DRAGON
Used to the bustle of a provincial family devoted to war, land and trade, Taniko found life within the Nine-Fold Enclosure very different and very elegant, but frequently dull. Ladies-in-waiting lived most of the time in the Empress's residence, the Wisteria Hall. Nothing ever happened except when the diviners declared the day auspicious or when the calendar called for the performance of some age-old rite. There were endless stretches of idle time during which the ladies-in-waiting entertained one another by playing games such as go and backgammon or holding contests in poetry-writing, flower-matching or incense-comparing.
One afternoon in early spring a commotion in the Empress's chambers caught Taniko's ear-barks and growls, mewings and hissings, the shrieks and screams of the Empress and other women. Taniko rushed into Her Imperial Majesty's bedroom.
The Empress's favourite cat, Myobu, a beautiful creature with long orange hair, was perched atop a tall mahogany cabinet, screaming feline imprecations and batting its claws at a brown dog no bigger than itself. The dog kept up a ferocious, high-pitched bark and bounded into the air, trying to get at the Empress's cat.
Empress Sadako, normally a placid woman, was as frightened by the dog's frenzy as her cat was, and was weeping with anxiety. She and the other ladies in the room were rendered helpless by their distress.
"Oh, Taniko-san, rescue Myobu. Please, please hurry."
With a bow to the Empress, Taniko seized the dog and tucked him under her arm. He squirmed and barked furiously. He was of a Chinese breed and looked to Taniko like a giant furry frog. Taniko recognized the dog at once. He was called Li Po and belonged to Lady Akimi, Domei's mistress. Akimi had been away from the palace for several days. It was customary for ladies-in-waiting to retire to their homes during their unclean time of the month.
Taniko knew Akimi as well as she knew most of the Empress's attendants, but there was something that set her apart from the other women, a calm nobility of manner that made Taniko want to get to know her better. But Akimi was reserved with Taniko. After all, Taniko was married to one of the Muratomo family's worst enemies. Akimi could not know that Taniko heartily approved of Akimi's lover. She had seen the dashing, moustachioed Captain Domei riding in the grounds at the head of the palace guard. How could the bear-like Sogamori imagine that he could compete with such a man for Akimi's favours? She had heard how the previous Emperor, now retired, had ill-treated Domei, how he had repaid Domei's loyalty to him during the insurrection by ordering him to execute his own father, how Domei had been neglected while that Emperor and his successor showered favours, offices and honours on his Takashi rivals. Her heart went out to Domei.
Empress Sadako floundered over to the cabinet, her skirts and underskirts billowing around her, and held up her arms to the cat. "Come down, my precious, come to Mother." Myobu jumped into the Empress's arms.
Her Imperial Majesty turned to Taniko. "That dog has terrified my poor Myobu. Animals like that should not be permitted to run loose in the palace. Have him punished."
Taniko was about to point out that the dog belonged to one of Her Imperial Majesty's senior ladies, but she realized that the Empress probably knew that and preferred not to acknowledge it. Did Sadako want the dog destroyed? Taniko decided it would be best to get the animal out of sight and not to ask any more questions.
But, she thought as she hurried out of the Wisteria Hall with Li Po in her arms, if she had Akimi's dog killed, she would make a permanent enemy of Domei's mistress, who already, regrettably, had reason to dislike her. Besides, she liked the little dog. He lay in her arms calmly and trustingly. At the foot of the Wisteria Hall's steps, she looked about her. In the distance a group of officers of the palace guards were playing football in front of the Hall of Military Virtues.
The game was an ancient favourite with male nobles. A circle of men tried to keep a soft leather ball in the air as long as possible, solely by kicking it. Taniko approached them. She knew a few of the guard officers slightly, and one of them might have an idea about what to do with the dog.
Once again Taniko thanked her karma that she was serving at the Court, where she was permitted to go and talk to anyone, man or woman, face-to-face. It must be maddening to spend all one's days and nights hiding behind a screen or fan as noble ladies who lived at home did.
One of the football players was Domei. That gave her an idea.
Domei must have been at least ten years older than any of the other men playing, but he had the greatest energy and enthusiasm. He played competitively, trying to keep the ball to himself, kicking it out from under the noses of the other players, aiming his kicks so close to their heads that they were forced to back off. The men playing with him laughed heartily at each new display of Domei's aggressiveness.
Taniko waited until there was a break in the game, then diffidently beckoned Domei. The captain came to her at once and bowed.
"Lady Taniko, how may I serve you?" If he felt any hostility towards her because of her husband, he didn't show it.
His breath steamed on the winter air. Muratomo no Domei was a tall, broad-shouldered man with the dark complexion of one who spent most of his time outdoors, an unfashionable colour at a Court where men and women powdered their faces to make themselves even paler. His forehead was high and bulging. All his hair was shaved away except for the lock on top neatly tied in the samurai topknot. His large head gleamed with perspiration. His big moustache drew attention to his most unfortunate feature, protruding front teeth.
Taniko explained about the Empress's wish to punish the dog. She didn't bother to point out that it was Akimi's pet. She was sure Domei recognized it.
"Frightening Her Imperial Majesty's cat is a grave offence. I will take charge of the prisoner." He took the dog from her hands and held him, stroking his head.
"What are you going to do with him, captain-san?" Taniko asked uncertainly.
"Well, the palace guards use stray dogs for archery practice." Shocked, Taniko put a hand to her mouth.
"Would you like to witness the execution, my lady?"
"No, no."
Taniko's impression of the Muratomo was still coloured by the uncouth oryoshi Jebu had killed last year on the Tokaido. But that man wasn't a member of the Muratomo family, just one of their paid supporters. Domei seemed pleasant and kindly enough, although his manners did lack the refinement one found in members of the old families of the capital. Taniko didn't believe Domei would really kill Akimi's dog.
Everyone said the Muratomo were dreadfully crude, but Domei was undoubtedly an excellent choice for the post of captain of the palace guard. He was obviously a born fighter, as different from the stout, moon-faced courtiers as a falcon is from a partridge.
When it came to military glory there were more legends about the Muratomo family than any other. They had migrated to the eastern provinces centuries before to build up their fortunes. There they spearheaded the opening up of the rich rice lands of the Kanto plain, driving the savage hairy Ainu before them. Their patron kami was Hachiman, god of war, and one Muratomo general who won dazzling victories was called Hachiman's Oldest Son.
In the last century the Muratomo had quelled two of the most dangerous rebellions ever raised against the crown, the Early Nine Years War and the Later Three Years War. Ill-mannered the Muratomo might be, but they were peerless warriors.
Lady Akimi returned to the Wisteria Hall a day later. Her eyes were red with weeping, and several times she burst into unexplained tears in the presence of the Empress.
Sadako was a kind-hearted woman who couldn't stand to see any of her ladies unhappy. But try as she could, it was almost impossible for her to persuade Akimi to tell her what was wrong.
Only when the the Empress herself began to cry did Akimi answer her insistent questions. "Oh, Your Majesty, I've heard that the captain of the Imperial bodyguard has shot my little dog, Li Po."
The Empress looked away uneasily. "I had not heard that."
"Oh yes, Your Majesty. But what really makes me weep is that Li Po displeased you. Killing him was the only thing to do."
"I didn't order your dog executed, Akimi-san," the Empress said pleadingly. She turned to Taniko. "Please send for Captain Domei."
Domei came quickly and prostrated himself before the Empress. She asked him what happened to the dog.
"As I told the Lady Taniko, Your Majesty, I felt that the only proper punishment for a dog that frightened Your Imperial Majesty's cat was to let it be used as a target for mounted archery practice."
"Barbarous," the Empress exclaimed. "You have caused great pain to one of my most esteemed ladies. I am very angry with you, Captain Domei."
Domei lowered his head. "I ask that Your Imperial Majesty order me beheaded in expiation."
Sadako winced. "Please, Captain Domei. There has been quite enough killing. Just leave us now. There is nothing more you can do."
Domei left. But later in the day he returned and presented the Empress with a little brown dog that looked to be Li Po. He insisted, however, that the dog wasn't Li Po.
"I believe this to be the reincarnation of Li Po," Domei said. "By a special blessing of the kami we have him back among us." Akimi hugged the dog.
"How can this be the reincarnation of the other dog when it is obviously the same age as that dog?" the Empress asked.
"I wouldn't pretend to know, Your Majesty," Domei said. "I'm not a very religious man." Seated in a corner of the room, Taniko hid her smile behind her fan.
The Empress said, "Might it not be simpler to say that this is that dog and that you did not kill it?"
"But that would mean I had disobeyed Your Majesty," said Domei. "As it is, the dog has been disposed of as you ordered, but we have another dog and the Lady Akimi is happy."
"Do the two of you imagine you are tricking me?" Sadako asked sternly.
Akimi immediately fell to her knees and pressed her forehead against the floor. "No, Your Majesty, never. We regret that we have disturbed your harmony with this matter of the dog. Dogs."
The Empress dismissed them. The new dog, which Akimi called Tu Fu, was accepted as a resident of the Wisteria Hall.
The next day Akimi came to Taniko's chamber. She was about ten years older than Taniko and one of the most beautiful women Taniko had ever seen, with large eyes and a face shaped in a perfect oval.
"Domei and I want to thank you for your kindness. If you had given my little Li Po to anybody but him, I might have lost him for ever. Li Po is a favourite pet of our son, Yukio, and he would have been heartbroken if anything had ever happened to him."
Taniko bowed. "I was very grateful for the opportunity to be of service to you, Lady Akimi. May I say also that you are a marvellous actress?"
Akimi laughed. She held out a package wrapped in silk. "I would like you to have this. It is a small gift, compared to the life of a beloved pet, but I hope you will enjoy it."
Taniko unfolded the silk cloth and found a book bound in red leather.
"This is the first volume of a very long story called The Tale of the Hollow Tree," said Akimi. "It was written about two hundred years ago by an official of the Court. This particular copy was presented to me by my mother. Both the calligraphy and the illustrations have always given me much pleasure."
"Thank you," said Taniko, opening the book and admiring a delicately tinted painting of a weeping woman. "I don't deserve this."
Akimi looked grave. "Domei and I believe that you wanted to show friendship for us. We do not have many friends in the Court, and none among the members of your family. Forgive me for mentioning it, but there is undying enmity between Domei and your husband."
"I know," said Taniko. "And of course, I have a duty of absolute loyalty to my husband. But where duty does not compel me, I believe I can pick my friends as I choose. I should be deeply honoured to be counted among your friends, as far as that is possible."
Akimi looked at her gravely. "Karma brings many surprising turns to our lives. We will think of you as a friend. Whatever happens."
Later, reading the book Akimi had given her, Taniko let her eyes wander from the page. She was happy that her gesture of friendship had been accepted, but there was an ominous note in Akimi's voice when she said, "Whatever happens." Domei was obviously a proud man, and he had lived a long time with heavy grievances. Was the apparent serenity of the Court, Taniko wondered, actually the heavy silence that comes before an earthquake?
For Jebu, the world had come to seem like a desert after he parted from Taniko. He returned to the ruins of the New Moon Temple on Mount Higashi, overlooking Heian Kyo, where he waited with his brother monks for a new command from the Order. A month later a monk arrived with a message from the Zinja Council of Abbots. The site of the New Moon Temple was to be abandoned, and the survivors of the earthquake were to move to the Autumn Wind Temple at Nara, two days' journey from Heian Kyo.
Three months after Jebu took up residence at the Autumn Wind Temple, a new abbot arrived. He sent for Jebu.
"Your father, Abbot Taitaro of the Waterfowl Temple, sends you greetings and congratulates you on the performance of your first task. You sent him a samurai sword which you took in battle. He wanted to know why you did that."
"I sent it to him as a gift, to honour him," said Jebu. "And I had some notion that treating a samurai sword as a trophy might chasten the arrogance of the warriors."
The abbot looked thoughtful. "One captured sword would not have that effect, but a large collection might. You're a big, strong lad. You might live long enough to collect a hundred samurai swords."
"I'll try."
"You'll have plenty of opportunities. You're now commanded to enter the service of the Muratomo. Your father urged the Order to be guided by your initiation vision. You will work for various members of the White Dragon clan, but your orders will ultimately be coming from the head of the family, Domei."
Jebu carried messages from Domei to the eastern provinces and to the northernmost reaches of Honshu. He travelled to the southern end of Kyushu, where the people retained some of the barbaric customs of the Kumaso, those cannibal tribesmen long ago conquered by the founders of the Imperial family.
Often there was fighting to be done. Whenever he defeated a samurai he would send the long sword to the Waterfowl Temple. The collection of swords grew to ten, then twenty. Jebu recited the Prayer to a Fallen Enemy so many times that it required intense concentration for him to maintain awareness of its meaning.
When he was not travelling, he remained at the Autumn Wind Temple, seeking insight through the practice of swordsmanship, archery and various kinds of hand-to-hand combat. He helped to teach the few aspiring monks who lived at the temple and even participated in two initiations.
He never met Domei. The Muratomo chieftain transmitted his messages and orders through others. Jebu preferred it that way. He wanted to avoid Heian Kyo; he had no wish to see Taniko or hear anything about her. But not an hour passed that he did not think of her.
News from the capital reached the Autumn Wind Temple often, though. Power and honours flocked to Sogamori as birds gather on a temple roof, while Domei was repeatedly slighted and passed over. Bitterness between the two clans continued to grow.
In the Twelfth Month of the Year of the Horse, two years after Jebu had escorted Taniko to Heian Kyo, the abbot of the Autumn Wind Temple handed Jebu a message signed with Domei's cipher. Jebu was to come to the Imperial Palace immediately, prepared for combat.
The abbot's eyes were alight with excitement. "This morning Domei seized control of the Nine-Fold Enclosure and placed Emperor Nijo under guard in the Serene and Cool Hall. Domei has been planning this for some time. Five days ago the Takashi clan chieftain, Sogamori, and his son, Kiyosi, left on a pilgrimage to the family shrine dedicated to the kami known as Beautiful Island Princess on Itsukushima island. With the Takashi leaders out of the capital, Domei chose his moment to strike. He remembers the many missions you've performed for him and wants your services now."
On the afternoon of the following day, Jebu rode to one of the three gates in the eastern wall of the Imperial Palace grounds and identified himself to the guards. Captain Domei, they said, was at the Hall of Military Virtues.
Over his grey robe Jebu wore the standard black-laced battle armour of a warrior monk. It might be true, as the Order taught, that a man's armour was his mind and that a naked man could utterly demolish a man clad in steel, but the Order also taught that for stopping arrows there was nothing like metal and leather. The armour of the warrior monks was lighter and closer fitting than the box-shaped armour of the samurai. Instead of a helmet Jebu wore a grey cowl tied around his head and covering the lower part of his face and the back of his neck. In addition to his sword and his bow, he carried a naginata with a long blade.
The walls of the Imperial Palace enclosed a park and a collection of buildings which constituted a city in itself. Some of the halls were huge and heavy, set on stone bases with roofs of green glazed tile supported by white walls and red lacquered pillars. Other buildings, though also large, were built in a style more familiar to Jebu, of plain wood with wattled roofs. All the halls were connected by a maze of colonnades. In the north-east corner of the enclosure was the simple wooden residence of the Imperial family, surrounding a landscaped garden. The rest of the grounds were strewn with finely raked white gravel.
On the parade ground before the Hall of Military Virtues, a tile-roofed pavilion which was headquarters for the palace guard, a hundred men, deployed in extended order to form a square, were practising sword drill. Off to one side lines of men with tall samurai bows were waiting their turn to shoot at targets shaped like warriors. In the distance lines of horsemen galloped back and forth firing arrows at fleeing dogs released by attendants. Domei was keeping his tense fighting men busy with drill and more drill.
Domei stood in the centre of a group of samurai, all wearing armour with white lacings. Jebu bowed and presented himself. Domei's men eyed his grey cowl and black-laced armour with curiosity.
"Ah, the Zinja I sent for," Domei said. "Shiké, are you prepared to fight and die to rid the empire of criminals and traitors?"
Jebu was prepared to fight and die, and he didn't particularly care for what reason. His Zinja training encouraged him to view the purpose of life as action, and life and death as equally acceptable. His meeting with Taniko and his loss of her made the Zinja philosophy even more congenial.
"I do as my Order bids," he said.
"I have His Imperial Majesty in my safe-keeping, I have control of the Imperial Palace, and I have most members of the Great Council of State. There are two things that must be done now. The first is to kill Prince Sasaki no Horigawa, the man who brought about my father's death."
Jebu was startled to hear the name of Taniko's husband. He should have realized, he thought, that Horigawa would be one of the first targets of any Muratomo coup. He must not involve himself in Horigawa's death. Taniko must have nothing to reproach him for.
He was relieved when Domei continued, "My son Hideyori here will lead men to hunt down Horigawa." Domei rested his hand on Hideyori's shoulder. Hideyori had the same high forehead as his father, but he was very young. "This one is only fifteen," Domei said with a smile. "We have just cut his hair and tied it in the samurai topknot. At first I wanted him to stay home like his younger brother, Yukio. But all my other sons are with me, and Hideyori insisted that he, too, must share in restoring the glory of the Muratomo. So I relented." Hideyori looked at Jebu without smiling. He had the coldest eyes Jebu had ever seen.
"The other task is to take the Retired Emperor, Go-Shirakawa, into custody. At the moment he is at his Sanjo palace, guarded by his own men. That's what I want you for."
Jebu's training had included a grounding in politics. He understood that for hundreds of years the office of Emperor had been a ceremonial one, without power. It was the Regents, always members of the Fujiwara family, who were the real rulers. But recently the Emperors had found a way to assert themselves-by retiring. A Retired Emperor was free of time-consuming ritual duties. He was not under the control of the Regent. He lived in a palace of his own, away from the Imperial Palace grounds. And he retained the prestige of having been an Emperor. To make themselves even more revered, many of the Retired Emperors entered the Buddhist priesthood. The Retired Emperors were thus a new centre of power, and were even able to name their successors on the throne.
To hold the Emperor in captivity, while valuable, was not as useful to Domei as having the Retired Emperor in his power. That would give him virtual mastery of the realm.
"Once we have His Retired Majesty, Go-Shirakawa," Domei went on, "we will require the Great Council of State to meet. They will proclaim Sogamori and Kiyosi rebels and outlaws. They will appoint me Minister of the Left in place of Sogamori. And they will appoint a new Regent chosen by me."
"You want me to take Go-Shirakawa for you?" Jebu asked.
"Yes. As a Zinja you are two things a samurai is not. You are a monk and you are capable of stealth. I want you to lead a party of men to the Sanjo palace tonight. We could make a frontal attack during the day, but it would take too many men away from here, and I must hold the Imperial Palace at all costs. And seeing us attack the Retired Emperor's palace might stir up the people against us. I want this done quietly and quickly, with as few men as possible. You will have the honour of scaling the wall first and opening the gate for my samurai. Then you will handle Go-Shirakawa. Since he is a priest, most samurai would be reluctant to touch him. Being an ordinary monk, you will, I hope, feel no hindrance. Are you up to all that?"
"I think I can do it, Lord Domei." A wave of exhilaration swept through Jebu. What he did tonight might well determine the future of the empire. And it would allow him to use his powers to the fullest and to risk his life. For the time being Taniko seemed unimportant. This was what he had been put into the world for.
Long after sundown Jebu and a small body of mounted Muratomo samurai were on their way to Go-Shirakawa's residence, the Sanjo palace. Behind them was an ox-drawn carriage.
When they were close to the palace, Jebu signalled a halt and crept towards the building on foot, taking one samurai with him. The palace was a two-storey building surrounded by a bamboo palisade twice the height of a man, and it, in turn, was protected by a wide moat.
Jebu handed his bow and quiver to the samurai accompanying him. Thinking of a shadow, he crept along the street to the edge of the moat and slipped soundlessly into the water. Swimming in armour was one of the many skills stressed in the training of a Zinja. The water was ice-cold, almost paralysing him. Without hesitation he plunged his head under the surface and, relying on his sense of direction, swimming as a frog swims through the blackness, he touched the opposite bank of the moat.
There was a low stone wall on-this side, behind which the bamboo palisade had been built. Clinging with his fingertips to the wall, Jebu drew a strong, light silk cable and a grapple out of a bag at his belt. The grapple was weighted in the centre, and its four hooks folded together for compactness in carrying. Jebu snapped the grapple open, drew back his arm, and threw it to the top of the palisade.
Pulling himself hand over hand, he was up the palisade in two breaths. On the other side there was a newly built gallery for archers; Go-Shirakawa had evidently feared an attack.
Dripping cold water and smelling of rotten weeds, Jebu tiptoed along the gallery towards the gate where a guard armed with a naginata stood, relaxed. Jebu drew an eight-pointed shuriken out of his robe and scaled it at the guard. The whirling blades bit into the man's throat, spraying blood as he fell.
The man was making gurgling sounds, trying to give an alarm as he died. Jebu dropped down from the gallery, picked up the fallen guard's naginata and stabbed him in the chest, muttering the Prayer to a Fallen Enemy under his breath. He straightened and pushed up the bolt that fastened the wooden gate.
He heard heavy feet rushing at him. Whirling, he swung the naginata with all his strength and sliced the attacker's right leg off below the knee. Even as the man's screams woke the defenders of the Sanjo palace, Jebu finished him with a naginata thrust into his mouth.
Repeating the Prayer to a Fallen Enemy, Jebu pushed the gate open. The Muratomo samurai who had come with him were through the gate and fanning out in the courtyard. A line of Go-Shirakawa's servants formed to block the way to the Retired Emperor. Jebu felt sorry for them. They were not true samurai, only armed servants. Beyond the defenders, in the main hall of the Sanjo palace, Jebu could hear the screams of women and the cries of courtiers.
Some of the retainers fell with falcon-feathered Muratomo arrows in their chests and bellies. Others were cut down by slashing samurai swords. Jebu ran up the steps of the pavilion. He stabbed one of the Retired Emperor's guards with his short Zinja sword. Another guard lunged at him, holding a long, thin courtier's sword in both hands. Jebu darted aside and stabbed his attackerthrough the forearm. The man came at him again, one-handed, chopping. This time Jebu cut off his sword arm, and the guard screamed and fell.
Then Jebu was in the presence of Go-Shirakawa. The Retired Emperor sat cross-legged on a high pile of cushions on a dais, his pendulous lower lip jutting out as he frowned severely at Jebu.
"Truly we have entered an age when the teachings of Buddha are forgotten, if an aged monk in his retreat can be attacked by bandits."
I can posture as well as you, Jebu thought. Glancing around quickly to make sure no one was about to attack him, Jebu fell to his knees and knocked his forehead on the cedar floor. "Oh, Holiness, this miserable monk has come at the command of the captain of the palace guards. Captain Domei believes that you are in grave danger here and respectfully urges that you take the carriage he has provided to the Imperial Palace, where he can better protect yourself and His Imperial Majesty."
Go-Shirakawa settled himself rock-like on his dais. "The Zinja are murderers masquerading as monks. Be warned: to lay hands on me is to insult the very flesh of She Who Shines in the Heavens. I will not go."
Jebu heard a cry behind him. He whirled. A courtier brandishing a dagger was leaping at him. Jebu grabbed the man's wrist, tripped him and threw him to the floor. He knelt on the courtier's back and used the man's own knife to cut his throat. He stood back, wiped the knife on the dying man's robe, and stuck the blade in his belt, stepping away from the widening pool of blood on the polished floor.
"Indeed, these are unsettled times, Holiness."
Go-Shirakawa looked thoughtful. "The red of his blood contrasts with the pale green silk of his robe. Clearly if such things as this can happen at my very feet I am not safe here. You may escort me to the Imperial Palace."
Jebu preceded Go-Shirakawa through the doorway of his palace. Outside, the pitiful courtier guards, who knew next to nothing about swordplay, lay scattered on the ground, so many butchered corpses.
The helmeted samurai prostrated themselves when Go-Shirakawa in his orange Buddhist priest's robe appeared on the steps of the pavilion. Jebu snapped his fingers and the ox-drawn carriage was brought around to the steps. A samurai knelt and presented his back to the sacred feet as Go-Shirakawa climbed into the carriage. Another warrior slid the door shut, and the Retired Emperor was alone with his meditations.
"Mount up," Jebu ordered. "Form a circle around the carriage." They had not lost a single man. That pleased him.
The last person to leave the Sanjo palace was a samurai with a bloody sword in one hand and a torch in the other.
"No!" Jebu called, even as the man's arm snapped forward and the torch flew through the air. Flames leaped up to engulf the palace.
Domei had given strict orders that the taking of Go-Shirakawa be smooth and quiet. But no discipline seemed strong enough to contain the samurai lust for destruction. The samurai, thought Jebu angrily, why were they such brutes? Supposedly in arms to serve and protect the empire, they were reducing it to ruins.
Go-Shirakawa had said something about this being an age when the teachings of Buddha were forgotten. Jebu had heard other Buddhist priests speak on the same theme, calling these times the Latter Days of the Law. The Buddha, they said, had predicted that the day would come when his laws would be broken and the world sink into chaos. It did seem, thought Jebu as the bonfire of the Sanjo palace roared into the sky, that everything old, everything beautiful, everything wise was gradually vanishing. Perhaps, indeed, these were the Latter Days of the Law.
At sundown on the day the Muratomo seized control of the Imperial Palace, Horigawa and a small contingent of bodyguards stopped at the Shima residence. Horigawa sent for Taniko.
"I got your message. You are a dutiful wife. But by the time it reached me I had already learned of the Muratomo coup. How did you escape from the palace?"
"I was able to slip out through the north-east gate before Domei's men had complete control of the palace. The palace grounds and buildings are so complicated; they're hard to guard and easy to escape through if you know your way around."
What Taniko did not add was that a frightened Akimi had awakened her before dawn. "You are in danger. You must leave the palace now, by the north-east gate. It isn't guarded yet."
"What's happening, Akimi-san?"
"Domei is about to seize the palace and take the Emperor and Empress prisoner."
"Why? He must be mad. It's his duty to protect the Emperor."
"He's been abused for too long. He wants to take control of the government and avenge himself on his enemies. His men are ready to move at sunrise. This is your last chance to get out. Hurry and dress."
Taniko's mind was racing. "It's my duty to stay here with the Empress."
"No one will hurt the Empress. But you are Horigawa's wife. Even though he likes you, Domei will have to use you as a hostage to try to get Horigawa. We know that Horigawa won't put himself in Domei's hands to save you. That means Domei may have to hurt you. You must get out now."
"I must warn the Empress."
Akimi's beautiful face was grave: "I won't let you do that. I'll turn you over to Domei's men."
"Do you approve of what Domei is doing?"
"Approve? I have loved him for twelve years. I'm part of his family. My son is a Muratomo. I saw Domei's father beheaded. I watched the Takashi seize every opportunity to insult him, to grind him into the dirt. Yes, I approve. If he did not fight back he would not deserve to be chief of the clan."
"Yes, I see." Taniko was dressing quickly with Akimi's help. "Of course he must try to win back all that his family has lost. But to seize the Emperor is unheard of. What if Domei can't hold the palace? The Takashi have tens of thousands of men over at the Rokuhara. I don't trust this way of doing things. It's too simple and too violent. It makes Domei look like a rebel."
Tears glittered in Akimi's large eyes. "I know, Taniko, I know. I'm terrified for all of us, for Domei, for my son, for Domei's other sons. He's wild-desperate. He has to do something. He isn't cunning, as the Takashi are. He thinks he can cut through the net they've woven around him with a single sword stroke." She sighed. "There's no turning back now. It's in motion. Our karma will decide what happens."
Hurriedly, wrapped in a heavy cloak, Taniko followed Akimi out of the Wisteria Hall. In the distance, before the Hall of Military Virtues, she could see dark, square masses of men gathered. The clink of weapons and armour carried clearly through the cold, still, pre-dawn air. She followed Akimi along a winding path through the twisted trees planted in the north-east corner of the palace grounds. They came to an ox-drawn carriage held by a servant. The women said goodbye and Taniko got into the carriage. The guards at the north-east gate were apparently not involved in the plot. They didn't question Taniko and let her through. Soon afterwards she was at the Shima mansion.
Now Horigawa said, "As soon as Domei feels he has the palace under control he'll send men after me, and I don't intend to give him the pleasure of catching me. The Muratomo may attempt to take you as a hostage. Take your carriage and follow me to Daidoji as quickly as you can. We'll be safe there until Sogamori returns to the capital."
"There's no need for me to take a carriage," said Taniko. "I can ride as well as you. Perhaps better."
"Thank you for reminding me that I married a rustic wife," said Horigawa.
Taniko looked at him levelly. "You married a samurai wife."
Heavily cloaked against the cold of the last month of the year, Horigawa, Taniko and their party, riding without stopping, took half the night to reach Horigawa's country estate, the manor called Daidoji. The samurai and peasants on the estate had heard nothing of the events in the city and were amazed to see their lord and his lady suddenly appear at the gate.
"Dig a pit deep enough to bury a man behind the guards' quarters," Horigawa ordered the steward, "and cut a length of bamboo that will reach to the bottom. Post a lookout above the pass. I want to know at once if armed men ride this way." Without another word to Taniko or anyone else, he disappeared into his quarters. A moment later Taniko heard the steward's angry voice commanding servants to take lanterns and shovels down to the guards' quarters and begin to dig.
It was the hour of the ox, the blackest part of the night. Taniko went to her chamber in the women's house, tended by sleepy maidservants she had come to know on -previous visits to the manor. She had a charcoal brazier brought in to warm the room and wrapped herself in as many robes and quilts as she could find. But she could not sleep. She lit an oil lamp and settled down with The Tale of the Hollow Tree given her over a year ago by Akimi.
Strange, she thought, that of all the women she had met at Court her closest friend should be Akimi, Domei's mistress. It had begun with the incident of the dog, and after that, as they talked, she had found she could share thoughts with Akimi as she had never been able to do with another woman. Although Taniko would never have said so, the Empress was a rather dull person, the other women of the Court even more so. Taniko's career as a lady-in-waiting would have been unbearable without Akimi.
And now, thought Taniko, I am in flight from Domei with Akimi's help, and comforting myself with a book Akimi gave me.
It was two years since her marriage to Horigawa. She found the prince as repulsive as ever, but his conjugal visits were, happily, infrequent. He seemed to want a wife mainly because a man in his position was expected to have one or more wives. While it must be bad karma that had afflicted her with a husband like Horigawa, she had learned not to consider herself uniquely unfortunate. Many other women had unappealing husbands. Perhaps most did. Rebirth as a woman was probably a punishment for misdeeds in a previous life.
Still, there was much pleasure in her life. Living in the Imperial Palace most of the time, serving the Empress, she felt close to the centre of things, where she had always wanted to be. The letters she translated for Horigawa brought her news of the fabled land of China. Horigawa's close ties with the Takashi enabled her to watch Sogamori's rise to power and also afforded occasional glimpses of the splendid Kiyosi. All in all, it was an exciting life for a young woman of fifteen.
There was, of course, the horrid possibility of her becoming pregnant by Horigawa. But she faithfully followed the precautions her mother had taught her, and anyway, she doubted that Horigawa's seed had any life in it. Neither of his earlier wives, she learned, had ever conceived.
One thing was missing, though. In dreams and in waking reveries there would often appear a very tall young man with red hair and strange, grey eyes. In a way, the memory was sweet. It was good to know that once in her life she had held the strong body of such a man in her arms. But it was unbearably sad to think that she would never know such joy again.
If only she had fully given herself to Jebu. Horigawa had hardly seemed to notice or care whether she was a virgin. Now she might never know what it was like to have such a beautiful man inside her. And Jebu had seemed to know so much about a woman's body. What exquisite pleasures he might have given her if she had permitted him the final intimacy. What marvellous memories she might have now.
When she thought of what she had lost, apparently for ever, tears filled her eyes.
The river that flowed through the hills above the manor was frozen, and she missed the sounds of the waterfall and the mill wheel, which usually furnished a background for her reading. Instead, from a distance rose the ringing sound of shovels biting into hard, cold earth. She and Horigawa and the others on the estate were simply waiting, waiting for the Muratomo. She wondered what he meant the pit for. Was he going to kill himself?
Reading by lamplight tired her eyes, and she blew out the lamp and tried to sleep. She lay awake on her futon, frightened, wondering what danger was coming their way, wondering what was happening in Heian Kyo. Was Jebu involved? Thinking of Jebu, she imagined herself in his arms. She thought about him and talked with him in her mind. Calmed by the fantasy, she fell asleep.
The lookout, half-dead from a freezing night spent in the hills, rode into the yard shortly after sunrise. A party of armed men was on the way. Horigawa emerged from his hall wearing an old black kimono. Summoning Taniko, he headed for the guard building. Behind the building, where it could not be seen from the main houses or the gateway to the estate, two men had dug a deep, square hole. Puzzled, Taniko watched as Horigawa ordered a ladder lowered into the pit and then climbed down.
Looking up from the pit at his bewildered servants, Horigawa said, "Any of you who reveals my whereabouts will wish you had never been born." He glared up at Taniko. "Any of you." Taniko felt her face grow hot with anger. The offensive old toad.
He lay down in the pit. Taniko peered over the edge. He had the bamboo tube in his hand, holding it to his mouth. He drew a white silk cloth from his kimono sleeve and spread it over his face.
"This is madness," Taniko said.
"It is a device others have used. I am certain they will never find me. Fill the pit. Bury me."
The pit was filled in long before the Muratomo riders came to the gate. Following Taniko's directions, men spread gravel over the surface to hide the freshly turned earth. Only the tip of the breathing tube showed above the gravel, unnoticeable unless one were aware of it.
We have no way of knowing whether the other end is in his mouth or not, thought Taniko. He may be dying even now. She suppressed the thrill of hope that thought gave her. She wanted, as best she could, to do her duty to her husband.
The head of the guards came up to her. "A party of twenty-four samurai is approaching," he said. "If they are Muratomo, shall we fight them?"
"That would be an utter waste," said Taniko. "His Highness has hidden himself so that it will not be necessary for you to fight to protect him. Resistance would only tell them that he must be somewhere on the manor. Let them in, be hospitable. Send their leader to my quarters."
Going to the women's building, she ordered her maidservants to arrange the wall screens to create a spacious audience chamber. At one end of the room they set a screen of state whose curtains were decorated with a design of snow-covered mountains.
She heard horses and cries in the courtyard, and a moment later a warrior's heavy tread on the steps of the women's house. A young man's voice spoke to her maidservants.
A moment later the samurai leader strode into Taniko's chamber on stockinged feet. He made a low bow. "Am I in the presence of Lady Shima no Taniko, wife of Prince Sasaki no Horigawa?"
The blinds and screens around the room were pulled tight to keep out the winter air, and little light came into the room from outside. Taniko had arranged the lamps so that the light was on the intruder, leaving her screen and herself in the shadows. Through tiny apertures between the screen's hangings she studied the Muratomo leader. In the palace, on the Empress's business, it was occasionally permissible for her to be seen by men. In her own home, and especially meeting with an invader, she was required to shield herself behind a screen of state.
The samurai was a boy. His face was smooth. His forehead, surmounted by the samurai topknot, was high. When he was fully grown, she thought, his face would be strong. As yet it had a boy's smoothness.
"I do not know who you are," said Taniko, "but you appear by your dress and bearing to be a well-born warrior. Your arrival is sudden and surprising to us, but we will make you welcome as best we can."
His eyes were alert, suspicious, unfriendly.
"I am Muratomo no Hideyori, son of Muratomo no Domei, captain of the palace guards and chieftain a the Muratomo clan. I have come at my father's order, seeking His Highness, your husband."
To kill him, thought Taniko. She said, "The prince would certainly wish to meet you, were he here. Alas, he left us last night. His destination, he said, was a temple on the northern shore of Lake Biwa."
"He began a journey at night?"
"So must you have, to reach Daidoji from the capital by morning. In His Highness's case, a diviner warned him that north would be an unlucky direction for him today." The nobility of Heian Kyo frequently planned their movements on the basis of lucky and unlucky directions.
"Staying at home might have been unlucky for him as well," said Hideyori. "In spite of what you tell me, I feel I must seek the prince here at Daidoji, in the hope that I may present him with my father's greetings. Do I have your permission to look for him?"
"Of course, Hideyori-san," said Taniko. "You will have every assistance from His Highness's servants."
Hideyori bowed, turned and left her. He had his father's commanding manner and good looks, she thought. A few moments later she heard his voice shouting orders. She moved two lamps closer to where she sat, settled down again with The Tale of the Hollow Tree, and waited, wondering what it must be like for Horigawa in his pit and how long he could live under the weight of all that earth. It did not matter that she loathed the man. He was her husband, and it was her duty to do everything in her power to preserve his life.
After a time Hideyori returned. Taniko quickly withdrew behind her screen. "You are correct, my lady. Prince Horigawa appears to be gone. If you will permit me now to search the women's house, I will accept what you've said, that Prince Horigawa is not here, and I will leave you in peace."
"Surely you would not distress my ladies by searching their quarters. Prince Horigawa is a man of noble birth. He would not hide among women."
The young Muratomo looked at her gravely through the screen. "You are of a samurai family, my lady. Do you give me your word as a samurai that Prince Horigawa is not here?"
"He is not in the women's quarters. You have my word."
"Then I will leave your ladies undisturbed if you will grant me one favour."
"What is that?"
"I have heard that the wife of Prince Horigawa is one of the most beautiful women in the capital. I would like to see for myself. Come out from behind that screen and let me look at you. Then I will go."
He was bold, for one so young. She studied him through the screen. His eyes were a fathomless black. He was staring back, trying to see past the hangings, but his expression was one of unabashed interest, with nothing corrupt, nothing cruel about it. It was not the look she had seen in Sogamori's eyes when Lady Akimi was mentioned, or for that matter when the Takashi chieftain looked at her. There was something straightforward and likeable about the Muratomo men.
"Very well." Daintily, drawing her kimono, patterned with red flowers, more closely about her, and taking an ivory fan from her sleeve and opening it, she stepped out from behind the screen and stood before Hideyori. She stood partially turned away from him with her eyes downcast. She held her fan so as not to hide her face, but to shield and reveal it at the same time.
There was a very long silence. At last, Taniko could stand it no longer. She looked up and allowed her eyes to meet his. He sighed. "Well?" she said with a touch of impatience.
Young Hideyori bowed. "They lied, those who said you were one of the most beautiful women in the capital. There is none more beautiful than you."
"Your mother is more beautiful than I am."
"My mother?"
"Yes. Lady Akimi is a good friend of mine."
Hideyori's face hardened, as if turned to stone. "Lady Akimi is not my mother."
Taniko turned away, mortified by her mistake. Hideyori must be Domei's son by one of his official wives. She knew that Akimi had a young son by Domei and had simply assumed that this must be he.
"Please forgive me. My error was stupid beyond belief. I meant no offence."
Hideyori shrugged. "No doubt I have offended you greatly by coming here. Forgive me for bringing trouble to your house. May the kami show favour to you, my lady. I take my leave of you now." He bowed again and was gone.
What a marvellous young man, she thought. When there are men in the world like him and Kiyosi and Jebu, why must I be married to Horigawa? Of course, this one is a bit young, even for me. But those black, penetrating eyes.
She lit a one-hour stick of incense. In an hour Hideyori and his party would be far away. It would be time to dig up old Squint-Eyes, if he were still alive.
Jebu had been placed in charge of the guard over the Retired Emperor, who was installed in the minor palace, one of the residential buildings in the north-west section of the palace grounds. Go-Shirakawa had remained in seclusion except for the previous evening, when there had been a meeting of the Great Council of State. Jebu heard the meeting had not gone well for Domei. In spite of the presence of armed Muratomo samurai, a major councillor had made a speech denouncing Domei as a rebel against the crown. Encouraged, the council had avoided approving Domei's demands. This delaying tactic could be as disastrous for Domei's cause as outright rejection.
In addition, Hideyori and his men had returned, and Jebu heard that Horigawa had eluded his pursuers. Jebu felt a pang of disappointment, and realized he had been hoping to learn that Taniko had been made a widow.
Domei's forces, the thousand samurai of the palace guard, augmented by six thousand Muratomo samurai called in from around the country, continued to drill and to stand guard over the walls surrounding the palace grounds. The White Dragon banner over the main gateway flew just as bravely in the cold winter air. But there was a feeling of tension and uncertainty among the samurai. They needed action, but there was nothing for them to do.
At noon on the third day of Domei's seizure of the palace, a young samurai came to Jebu, who was meditating on the veranda of the minor palace.
"Captain Domei wants you at the south-centre gateway."
Domei and other Muratomo leaders were standing on the parapet of the palace wall overlooking Redbird Avenue. Domei appeared tired and discouraged.
"You did well bringing in His Retired Majesty, shiké."
"I should have prevented the burning of his palace."
Domei shrugged. "Just another old building. The main thing is, we got Go-Shirakawa and we didn't lose a man." He lowered his voice. "I'm speaking to you now because you're not one of us. You're not a samurai, nor a member of the Muratomo clan. Perhaps you won't be as affected by the news. I've tried to keep it a secret. This morning Emperor Nijo escaped."
"How?"
"Some Takashi infiltrated the palace grounds, disguised the Emperor as a lady-in-waiting, and whisked him out one of the side gates in a carriage. What's more, Sogamori and Kiyosi have returned to the city. We can expect an attack at any moment. When it comes, I want you to guard my son."
Jebu knew that Domei had five sons, but he had only met Hideyori. "I presume you mean your youngest son, Hideyori?"
Domei smiled. "I have a son younger than Hideyori. He's eleven and he's safe at his mother's house. I do mean Hideyori. He's a proud devil. He wants to prove himself better than his older brothers. But he is young to be in the thick of the fighting that will come. The greatest casualties are always among the youngest. Stay close to Hideyori. Try to protect him. But also, try not to let him know you're doing it."
Jebu was touched. He remembered Taitaro's care-worn face the morning after his initiation as a Zinja. Fathers loved their sons, but had to send them into danger.
A cry of alarm came from the near-by Muratomo officers. "Here they come."
Jebu looked over the wall. The Takashi were advancing. Led by a small group of mounted samurai, the Takashi marched a hundred abreast, their ranks filling the entire breadth of Redbird Avenue. The sun glittered on their armour and the ornamental horns on their helmets. Their hundreds of red banners looked like a sea of poppies. Their war taiko thundered a relentless, triumphant rhythm.
Their leader, riding down the middle of the avenue, wore a helmet with a red-lacquered dragon. His black armour was decorated with gold butterflies and orange-tinted lacings. He rode a chestnut stallion with white mane and tail, and his saddle was inlaid with mother-of-pearl in willow and cherry designs. In his hands he held a long sword curved near the base, the haft decorated with gold and silver mountings.
"That magnificent one," Domei snarled. "That's Kiyosi, Sogamori's son. Look how he's got himself up. The Takashi are all so vain. We'll spoil their looks for them today. That sword in his hand, that's Kogarasu." He drew his own sword. The winter sun glinted on its long, almost straight blade. "I, too, have my heirloom sword with meHigekiri, the sword that sliced off the arm of the demon of the Rasho Mon. We'll see whose sword has more power today."
These samurai deceived themselves into thinking their blades had magical power. "A sword has only as much power as the man behind it," Jebu said.
Domei shook his head. "Any time a man believes he has power, he has it. This is one of the secrets of warfare, shiké. Go now, and find Hideyori."
At that moment Kiyosi broke into a gallop, pointing Kogarasu at the little band of Muratomo standing atop the wall. With a roar, the Takashi warriors ran behind their mounted leader, their heavy sandals drumming on the pavement of Redbird Avenue like a stampede of wild horses. Thousands of long swords stabbed the air. The sea of poppies had become a wave of steel.
Scaling ladders sprang up from among the flashing swords, and the Takashi wave crashed against the walls of the Imperial Palace. Over the din Domei shouted orders to his men on the grounds below, and archers sprang to the walls to loose their arrows into the mass of Takashi warriors.
Forcing down his urge to join in the fight at the wall, Jebu hurried down the steps leading to the palace grounds. He ran across the white gravel to the inner wall surrounding the main buildings of the palace. A long line of defenders had formed between the two ancient trees, the Cherry Tree of the Left and the Orange Tree of the Right, which stood before the Ceremonial Hall. Jebu found Hideyori among them. The young man's fingertips nervously tapped his sword hilt.
"Have you ever drawn blood with that?"
Hideyori shrugged. "I tried it out on a slave. But you heard what my father said. I just had my topknot ceremony. I've never been in real combat. Why do we have to stay here? I'd rather be on the outer wall."
Jebu looked through the gateway leading out of the compound. He saw a Takashi banner wave briefly on the outer wall, then fall. "From the look of it, the Takashi will be coming to us," he said. In his mind he was repeating the Zinja sentences to compose his mind for battle. Arrows flew through the air, but none of them fell near the Muratomo line within the palace compound.
There came a rush of Muratomo defenders from the outer wall to join the line between the two trees. Right behind them the Takashi burst through and streamed into the palace compound like a long ribbon of red silk unwinding. Jebu unslung his bow and took aim at Kiyosi, but the scion of the house of Takashi changed direction suddenly, and the arrow flew past him and disappeared. Make every arrow count, Jebu reminded himself with chagrin. He wanted Kogarasu, which he could see slashing like a great silver scythe, too badly. He was infected with the lust for success. He resolved just to act and to forget about Kiyosi's sword. The Self doesn't collect swords, he thought.
"Stay close to me," Jebu said to Hideyori. The young Muratomo had his sword out. Jebu stood to his left and slightly in front of him, acting as a shield. Other Muratomo samurai, seeing their leader's son in their midst, crowded around him protectively.
Jebu wished Domei were more of a planner. The Takashi, at least, seemed to have some sense of direction, and it was working for them. The Muratomo fought as samurai usually did, every man for himself, and they were being driven back.
A big Takashi samurai drove his naginata straight at Hideyori's chest. Jebu brought his Zinja sword down in a chopping swing and broke the naginata pole. But the broken end of the pole struck Hideyori and threw him, stunned, to the ground.
"We have Domei's son," the Takashi samurai shouted, drawing his sword against Jebu. Jebu swung his sword at the Takashi's legs. The Takashi brought his sword down to block the swing. Jebu drew his sword back and struck again, but this time as the attacker's sword came down to block him, Jebu turned his blade and struck upwards. The force of the Takashi's blocking motion brought his right forearm down on the Zinja blade. Only by quickly letting go of his sword was he able to save his arm from being severed. As it was, Jebu's blade had cut through muscle and sinew right to the bone. The big samurai, bellowing in pain and anger, fell back among his comrades.
Jebu stood over Hideyori, his short sword cutting and thrusting this way and that. An empty circle formed around him. Slowly Hideyori got to his feet and the Muratomo samurai closed around them.
Domei, recognizable, in spite of his face plate, by the white horsehair plume on his helmet, came riding towards Jebu and the other men near the Cherry Tree of the Left. Domei leaned down and patted Jebu on his shoulder.
"I saw that. My son would not be alive now if it weren't for you. You're a marvellous swordsman. In battle, the Zinja are devils. You must train my sons."
The Zinja are devils. But Jebu did not have time to think about that now. Domei wheeled his horse and began rallying his men. In a moment the Muratomo had steadied their line between the two trees.
Domei gave the command, and the Muratomo counter-attacked, those at the far right end of the line running at full tilt, spearheaded by horsemen, slashing wildly with their swords, thrusting with their naginata. Nearer the Cherry Tree the Muratomo line advanced more slowly. Jebu and Hideyori stayed at the left side of the line to hold the samurai there to a slow, inexorable walk controlling the pivot. Many white banners were waving in the air now, and the Muratomo taiko drummers pounded wildly to spur on the attack.
It now appeared that the Muratomo had the Takashi on the run. The southern half of the inner palace compound was swept clear of Takashi, and the pivoting advance of the Muratomo became a rush as the Takashi began a headlong retreat.
A flash of gleaming red caught Jebu's eye. It was the dragon on Kiyosi's helmet. Waving his sword, the Takashi leader was calling his men to fall back before the onrushing Muratomo. He was leading the retreat.
But a Takashi retreat made no sense. Kiyosi should be rallying his warriors to make a stand. The Takashi outnumbered the Muratomo three to one. They had managed to overwhelm the outer defences. They had only to keep on and they would grind the Muratomo down. But so rapidly did the Takashi fall back that there was no time to pin them against the Ceremonial Hall, the aim of Domei's counter-attack. Instead, the fleeing Takashi and the charging Muratomo circled the Cherry Tree a second time, swirling like a whirlwind.
And now Kiyosi's red helmet and dazzling sword could be seen leading the Takashi out the gate they had broken in through. A cheer went up from the Muratomo as they rushed out of the palace grounds in pursuit of their foe.
"Stop!" Jebu called. "Stop! Close the gate and hold the palace." But the samurai flooded past Jebu as if he were just another ornamental tree on the palace grounds. The Muratomo vanguard, led by Domei's white plume, was already far down Redbird Avenue. Jebu and a handful of Muratomo samurai remained behind. In a moment the walled park was nearly empty.
A strange silence fell. The screams and shouts and clatter of battle faded in the distance. All that remained, besides Jebu and the few samurai, were hundreds of armoured bodies scattered over the white gravel of the outer grounds and the inner compound. Here and there lay a severed head, arm or leg, a dark lump of leather-wrapped flesh surrounded by a puddle of blood. Blood was everywhere, in pools, splashes and streams, as if the palace grounds were white paper on which a giant calligrapher had been writing with red ink. The white of the Muratomo and the red of the Takashi, thought Jebu. Together they have inscribed their poem of war on the most sacred ground of Sunrise Land.
The realm would never be the same again. This palace had been built four hundred years ago by Kammu, the ancestor of the Takashi. Since then it had been the centre of harmony and serenity for the whole empire. Now it was splashed with blood and littered with mutilated bodies. The Emperor would undoutedly survive these great changes that were shaking the land, but he would not govern, nor would his ministers. Whoever governed in the future would govern with the sword.
Men screamed for help, other men begged for a quick death, while some groaned in half-consciousness. The few Muratomo samurai who had stayed behind walked about identifying their dead comrades and trying to help the wounded. Others systematically went from one wounded Takashi to the next, slitting throats, spilling more blood on the white stones. Some performed the same service as a mercy for the badly injured Muratomo. Jebu looked down at his armour, dappled with blood.
Young Hideyori came up to him, wiping his sword clean with a white cloth. "We had better get these men together, shiké. The Takashi will be upon us at any moment."
"You saw that? Good, Hideyori-san. You'll make a good general."
Hideyori smiled, his eyes as remote and cold as ever. "You saw it and I saw it, but my father didn't see it. My father-" He broke off, shaking his head.
"There'll be too many of them for us to fight," said Jebu.
"We can hold the inner compound. Or at least the Ceremonial Hall."
"Yes, and the last of us to die can set fire to it."
"Why not?"
"Nonsense. I'm going to deliver you to your father alive."
"A foolish promise, impossible to keep."
At that moment the lookout on the inner wall gave a long, shrill cry of alarm, and the storm was upon them again. There was no stopping the Takashi who swarmed up their scaling ladders, planted their blood-red flags on the parapets, and dropped from the walls to the ground like a swarm of beetles falling upon a mulberry tree.
"This way," Jebu called. Followed by about fifty Muratomo samurai, he and Hideyori burst through the unguarded gateway leading to the northern part of the palace grounds. Takashi samurai raced after them.
Half the Muratomo samurai, forced to act without orders, stopped, turned and formed a defensive line to hold back the Takashi. Jebu could see Kiyosi's dragon-crowned helmet as it passed through the gateway through which they had just escaped. A mass of Takashi fell upon the Muratomo line. Then Jebu could see no more.
They ran past the Imperial residential buildings surrounding the little park in the north-west section of the grounds. A samurai beside Jebu took an arrow in the back and fell into the ornamental pool. Erightened maidservants and ladies-in-waiting peered out at them. Some were supporters of the Muratomo and called out frantic questions, which Jebu and the samurai ignored.
Beyond the residential buildings Jebu saw a stable. There was no time to saddle the horses. Panting, their breath steaming, the men threw themselves on the animals' bare backs. There were only a dozen horses. Those samurai who were left without horses turned and lined up to hold off pursuers.
They rode for the north-west gateway in the outer wall. A Takashi humming-bulb arrow shot past Jebu's head with a piercing whistle. Jebu decided that if the Takashi caught up with them he would turn and fight them at the gate, giving Hideyori time to escape.
They were through the gate and galloping wildly down the city streets. A startled ox pulling a carriage lumbered out of their way and crashed into a near-by wall. What was anyone doing on the streets on this day? Arrows splintered against the pavement behind them. Jebu jumped, his horse over the low wall against which the ox had just blundered, followed by Hideyori and six other mounted samurai. They rode through the gardens of a nobleman's estate past screaming, terrified servants.
In a short time they had lost themselves among the houses of Heian Kyo aristocrats. Pursuit seemed to have been called off. For the moment the Takashi had what they wanted, the palace.
Hours later, circling cautiously through the streets, they found the main body of Muratomo warriors. Domei was sad and tired. His force had been greatly reduced, not only through casualties but because of men getting lost in the streets, wandering away or, discouraged, fleeing.
While Jebu and Hideyori had been looking for Domei, he had realized too late that the Takashi were doubling back for the palace. His men had reached the main gate only to find a much larger army than their own in possession. Then they had marched across the city in the hope of mounting an attack on the Rokuhara, but the Takashi stronghold was occupied by Sogamori with an even larger force of samurai. Domei estimated that between the men stationed at the Rokuhara and the Takashi allies who had come in from the countryside, there were forty thousand Takashi samurai in the city.
"They hold the Imperial Palace against us. They have the Emperor and the Retired Emperor in their hands. Both Their Majesties have proclaimed the Takashi their defenders and us outlaws. Everything has turned out exactly opposite to my hopes." Suddenly he lifted his head and smiled, almost gaily. "Many times the falcon stoops and comes up with empty claws. Then he must fly away to try again."
Jebu glanced at Hideyori. The fifteen-year-old boy was staring at his father with an appraising look that was almost contemptuous.
A few hours later the Muratomo army was streaming out of Heian Kyo by one of the western gates. The weary samurai glanced over their shoulders from time to time, expecting a Takashi pursuit. Jebu rode with Domei. One of Hideyori's older brothers lay in a horse-drawn carriage, his right leg almost severed. Jebu had attended him with Zinja remedies, a powder to clean the wound and a tourniquet to stop the bleeding.
When they reached the heavy woods at the base of the mountains north of Heian Kyo, snow began to fall.
Domei said, "We must scatter. My older sons must go with me. But, Hideyori, I want you far, far from Sogamori's reach. Since Jebu brought you safely through the battle, I will entrust you to him."
Domei turned to Jebu. "Lord Shima no Bokuden of Kamakura is a secret ally of mine. He is not a very good ally-he feigns friendship for both sides. But he should be able to see that Hideyori can be valuable to him, and only he is far away enough and powerful enough to protect Hideyori from the Takashi." Domei sighed heavily. "My youngest son, Yukio, is in the capital. I can't save him. Hideyori may be the last of us. He is the future of the Muratomo clan."
Jebu nodded, astonished at the revelation that the calculating Lord Bokuden, Taniko's father, was in league with the Muratomo. Perhaps that was the reason he had relied on one inexperienced Zinja to escort his daughter through Muratomo territory to Heian Kyo. And the reason their party was attacked only once. But Jebu agreed that Bokuden could not be considered a very trustworthy ally.
When Hideyori had walked away, leaving Domei and Jebu alone, Domei let his head drop.
"I have been a fool, shiké. I helped the Takashi destroy my father and now I have ruined myself and my sons. I have done everything wrong. I would welcome death now."
Jebu said, "In my Order we are taught to see that all is one. Victory or defeat, life or death, it is all the same. The act is everything, the result nothing."
Domei shook his head. "It would comfort me to believe that. But I can't. Go now, Jebu."
Five days after the Muratomo defeat at the Imperial Palace, Moko brought Taniko the news that Domei had returned to Heian Kyo. Taniko was again at the Empress's Wisteria Hall, Horigawa having rushed back to the city as soon as he heard that the Muratomo had been driven out of it. Empress Sadako was prostrate in her chambers, still not recovered from the fright Domei's insurrection had given her. Lady Akimi was conspicuously absent.
Moko knelt on the veranda outside Taniko's room and spoke to her through the screen, shaking his head.
"It was very sad. Domei and his older sons were attacked by a party of Takashi samurai. They fought their way through, but all their escort was scattered. Domei and his three sons found themselves alone in the mountains in a blizzard, with their enemy in hot pursuit. One son was wounded and could not keep up. He begged his father to kill him, rather than allow him to fall into the hands of the Takashi. Finally Domei gave in and stabbed his son in the heart. At least the boy did not cut his belly open, as some samurai do when they want to kill themselves."
"Horrible," said Taniko. "And Domei still couldn't escape?"
"He tried, my lady. He and his two remaining sons dug a grave for the dead young man and struggled on through the falling snow. They stopped at a farmhouse to rest, not realizing how close behind them were the Takashi samurai. The peasant who offered them hospitality betrayed them. Domei was bathing when his enemies burst in upon him and captured him. The two sons were also unarmed. The Takashi took all three prisoner and brought them back by order of Sogamori, to be publicly executed here. They even dug up the body of the dead son and brought his head back to the capital. Many other Muratomo leaders are to be beheaded as well."
"How sad. What of Domei's two younger sons?"
"One of them, Yukio, is here in the capital at the home of his mother, the Lady Akimi, whom you know. They are both under house arrest. The other-this is very interesting, my lady."
Taniko leaned forward and peered through the screen. She could see that Moko was smiling, revealing all the gaps left by his missing teeth. "What is it?"
"You might not have heard this, because you had fled the capital with your honoured husband when the fighting was going on, but a huge Zinja monk with hair of a fiery colour is said to have performed prodigies in the battle for the Imperial Palace."
Taniko's heart beat faster. "That can only be one person."
Moko nodded. "So I thought, my lady. I have also heard that this same monk escorted Domei's other young son, Hideyori, into the north-east."
The north-east, Taniko thought. She would have to send a secret message to her father to watch for them.
"When are the executions to take place?"
"In three days' time, in a pit beside the prison at a place called Rokujo-ga-hara, where Rokujo Avenue crosses the Kamo River. All around the execution ground poles have already been set up, and the heads of a dozen of the better-known rebels who were killed in the fighting look down on passers-by. Truly, as I heard a monk say, we must be living in the Latter Days of the Law."
"Yes," said Taniko. "Moko, I want to know so much more about the world than I do. All I can see is what happens within this Nine-Fold Enclosure. It is a great pity that Captain Domei and his sons must die. I, knew and like him. But the power of men to execute other men in the name of the Emperor is what holds this realm together. If I want to know the world, I must know this. Will you go to the execution and be my eyes, Moko? Will you see them for yourself and me?"
"I've seen a good deal of killing in my life," said Moko. "And I'll probably have to see much more before I myself step into the Great Void-or am pushed. The last thing I want is to go look at killings that I don't have to see. But if it will help you, my lady, I'll go, and I'll tell you about it."
Moko went to the execution ground early to find the best possible vantage point. The place where the condemned were to die was a wide, circular depression, somewhat deeper than the height of a man, beside the Kamo River. Court attendants in shining, light green robes had already roped off the area nearest the pit for the noble witnesses. Moko saw that if he joined the crowd of common onlookers on the riverbank he would be too far from the edge to see anything.
But there was a huge, old cherry tree beside the prison which had long been used for public floggings. From its topmost branches a man would have a fine view. Used to working on buildings, Moko had no fear of heights. In a moment he was securely perched on a high, but strong, limb that would allow him a good view of the proceedings.
It was only after he was settled on his perch and could look around a bit that he saw a pair of dead eyes staring at him. A pole bearing the head of a rebel killed in the fighting at the Imperial Palace had been set close to the cherry tree. A bit shocked, Moko took a deep breath and winked at the head.
"Good morning to you, my lord, whoever you are. I trust you are not suffering?"
Just think, this could be the head of the shiké Jebu. But they probably wouldn't bother to set a monk's head up on a pole, any more than they would his own.
Gradually the area around the pit filled up with spectators. Carriages brought the men of rank, who were admitted to the best positions, close to the edge of the pit. From his cherry-tree limb Moko could see along Rokujo Avenue, which was filled with ox-drawn carriages-wickerwork carriages, palm-leaf carriages, and the towering, elaborate Chinese carriages with their green-gabled roofs, whose use was restricted to the Imperial family and the highest officials of the Court. The carriages blocked one another's way, and Moko watched with amusement as three fights broke out among forerunners of rival noblemen.
The confusion was rendered worse when a mounted troop of Takashi samurai, their gold ornaments gleaming in the morning sun, forced their way down the centre of the avenue, carriage attendants scurrying out of the way of their horses' clattering hooves. In the distance Moko saw a blaze of gold, and as it came closer he recognized the gold roof of the Emperor's palanquin, an enormous, magnificently decorated portable building carried by dozens of men and surmounted by a golden phoenix. The Takashi horsemen must be substituting for the palace guard, destroyed in Domei's insurrection. People fell to their knees as the Emperor passed. Moko was awestruck as he watched the palanquin pass near his cherry tree and settle on a commanding spot on the riverbank.
Sudden horror froze Moko. In his excitement at these splendid sights he had forgotten the age-old rule that no one's head may be higher than the Emperor's. If anyone saw him up here now, he would be dragged down, and the Emperor's guards would chop him to bits. It was too late to climb down. The sacrilege had been committed. He must remain absolutely still. His only hope was that no one had seen him climb up here and that no one would see him during the executions. He might, he realized with increasing dread, have to remain in this tree until nightfall, and even then he would be in terrible danger when he tried to climb down.
The curtains of the Emperor's palanquin were opened. In spite of his terror, Moko studied the Emperor curiously. Nijo wore a high, jewelled head-dress and a massive diamond necklace. His silk gowns, worn one over the other, were so voluminous that he seemed like a bodiless head resting on piles of magnificent fabrics. His cloak was of plum red lined with scarlet, chosen, Moko suspected, because the colour matched the mood of this occasion. The young Emperor's face was powdered white and was without expression-almost without features. It was perfectly round, with a tiny mouth, nose and eyes, and a wisp of a beard on the point of the chin.
Smiling triumphantly, Prince Horigawa, Lady Taniko's repulsive husband, sat on a bench below the palanquin along with a number of other nobles in violet Court cloaks. Beside Horigawa sat a heavy-set, balding man whom Moko had also seen before-the Takashi clan chieftain, Sogamori. His broad face was alight with relish, as if he were about to sit down to a fine banquet. He and Horigawa were like a pair of swollen toads, on the verge of bursting with pleasure over their victory.
Now the condemned men, wearing only fundoshi, loincloths, were marched out of the prison and down a ramp into the pit. There were twenty of them. The famous Muratomo chieftain, Domei, was the first to enter the pit. Moko had seen him before, riding through the city on horseback. How sad, Moko thought, that this splendid man's life must be cut short, while the ugly and poisonous Horigawa lived on and on.
Five executioners stood across the pit, facing their victims. One of them was Kiyosi, scion of the house of Takashi, dressed in red-laced armour decorated with black lacquer and gold ornaments, and an underrobe of red brocade. He held a long, deeply curved sword.
The first to die would be five of Domei's lieutenants. They stepped forward. A courtier in a light green robe read off the list of their crimes, concluding with treasonous uprising against the Emperor. The Emperor's face remained blank. The five turned and bowed, first dutifully to the Emperor, then loyally to Domei, finally politely to their executioners. They knelt.
Moko wondered, are they thinking about what is going to happen to them? Are they fully aware of it? Or are they trying not to think about it? Moko remembered how he had felt when Jebu said he was going to behead him. His whole body had gone ice-cold and he had thought he was going to lose control of his bowels. It was the worst feeling in the world. And these men had endured that feeling for days, ever since they had learned they were going to be executed.
The five executioners, including Kiyosi, stood over the condemned men, their blades flashing in the sun. They swung their swords up at the same time.
Five blades fell, full force, on five necks. The blows propelled each head a short distance, and the kneeling bodies collapsed like sacks of rice. From each headless neck a bright pool of blood spread on the sand, which was as white as a snowdrift. There was a murmur of mingled excitement, approval and horror from the onlookers.
Moko's stomach heaved violently. As he had told Taniko, he had seen men killed before, but had never seen a public execution. It must be, he thought, the first time for many of the people below him as well. In his revulsion he almost forgot the danger of his own position, that he might, at any moment, be discovered and join the dead down there.
Several courtiers fainted, one almost falling into the pit but saved when his attendant grabbed his arms. The unconscious men were carried out of the crowd by their servants. Another courtier suddenly vomited all over his beautiful lavender cloak, to his great embarrassment and to the amusement of several of his fellows. How shameful to vomit in the sight of the Emperor, thought Moko, once again forgetting his own precarious position. Sogamori, from his position near the Emperor, smiled scornfully.
Slaves dragged the bodies out of the pit by the ankles while foot soldiers drove a sharpened pole into the base of each skull and raised the heads up so that even people in the distant parts of the crowd could see. Moko held his breath, realizing that now he was in the greatest danger because people would be looking upwards. He prayed to the ghost of the warrior facing him- to turn the eyes of the living in any direction but his.
The ritual of execution was repeated twice more, each time with five victims. Domei was being saved till last, Moko realized. He would have to see his followers die, then his sons' heads hoisted on poles before he himself could find the release of death. What cruelty.
Before Domei's two elder sons knelt to be executed, they stood and looked long at their father. Were they accusing him of having led them to their deaths, or were they exchanging one last, affectionate look before going into the Great Void? Moko hoped it was the latter.
Domei's expression did not change as he saw his sons beheaded.
Now it was his own turn. He knelt and spoke. "The clan chieftain of the Muratomo dies proclaiming his unswerving loyalty and that of the Muratomo family to His Imperial Majesty. He begs His Imperial Majesty to remember that the Muratomo are ever the teeth and claws of the Emperor."
Kiyosi was to execute Domei. He raised his sword, its gold and silver mountings glittering, high over his head, then brought it down with a loud, "Ha!" While Domei's body was still shuddering in death, Kiyosi turned his back on it and bowed to the Emperor. The Emperor's face remained as soft and empty as bean curd in a bowl. I'll bet he's never seen a public execution before, either, thought Moko, and I'll bet he wishes he could look away, or even vomit. But he doesn't dare, because he's the Emperor. Odd, that the Emperor is less free than anyone else.
To his surprise, Moko noticed tears sparkling on Kiyosi's face. Even this enemy of the Muratomo is moved by these deaths, he thought. Then Kiyosi happened to glance upwards. His eyes met Moko's.
Moko's heart stopped beating, and he almost let go of the tree limb. Be merciful, Buddha, he thought, and tried to prepare himself for death. He could not help shutting his eyes.
For a long moment nothing happened. Then Moko slowly opened his eyes again. Kiyosi was still looking at him, the dark brown pupils burning into him. In his terror, Moko saw Kiyosi's square, chiselled face with a luminous clarity, as if it were the face of a Buddha or a kami. This great lord must defend the sanctity of the Emperor. It is his duty to kill me.
Kiyosi smiled ever so slightly, and looked away.
It was a long time before Moko was able to breathe normally again. It began to look as if the great lord were going to spare his life. Of course, he might be waiting until the executions were over, so that the dignity of the occasion would not be spoiled by the skewering of one as lowly as he. But somehow Moko doubted that. There had been kindness in the smile. All Moko had to do was stay put until dark and hope that nobody else saw him. Which was quite a lot to hope for. He recalled the shiké telling him the Zinja had been trained to hide in trees for days. Moko would have a tale to tell the shiké now-if he ever saw him again.
Sogamori, rather than the Emperor, gave an imperceptible hand signal and two courtiers closed the curtains of the Emperor's palanquin. The multitude of men who carried the Emperor leaped up and raised the gilded palace on poles to their shoulders. The troop of Takashi guards formed their mounted ranks before and behind the palanquin. The forerunners raised their batons and began shouting.
Behind the Emperor the high nobility walked to their waiting carriages. Moko watched Kiyosi, the man who had spared his life, as the lean young man walked away with his short, heavy father, Sogamori. Sogamori climbed into a Chinese-style carriage, while Kiyosi mounted a chestnut horse and rode away.
For Moko, the remainder of the afternoon was the worst ordeal of his life. The major executions were over, and the Emperor and the great lords had left, but there were still nearly eighty rebels who had to kneel in the bloody pit and die. Trapped in the cherry tree, his arms and legs slowly growing numb, Moko had to watch all of it.
At last darkness fell. There was no moon that night. When he felt safe, Moko somehow managed to get his limbs working and he half-climbed, half-fell, down from his perch in the tree. He was barely able to walk.
He found his way to a wine shop in a side street and revived his aching body with the help of a jar of warm sake. Amazing, he thought, that the young Takashi lord, who had not hesitated to chop off men's heads with his sword, had let a sacrilegious little carpenter live. Moko remembered the tears running down Kiyosi's cheeks after he beheaded Domei. There was compassion in the young samurai such as Moko had seen in only two other people-the Lady Taniko and the shiké, Jebu.
Thinking of his lady, and still shaken from the horror and pain of what he had seen and endured that day, Moko forced himself to his feet, paid for his sake, and set out for the Imperial Palace.
It was early spring when Jebu and Hideyori stood in the presence of a trembling Shima no Bokuden.
"Does Domei reach from beyond the grave to destroy his friends? This house has always been known as a Takashi house. How could I shelter you here?" Lord Bokuden demanded.
"What do you mean, from beyond the grave?" Hideyori said quickly. "Is my father dead?"
"Yes, of course. And your brothers. Had you not heard?"
Jebu felt a pang of grief at the thought that the brave, strong Domei, in whose service he had spent two years, no longer lived. He looked at Hideyori, whose face was without emotion.
"How did they die?" Hideyori asked.
"One of your brothers was badly wounded, and your father helped him to die. Domei and the other two were captured, taken back to Heian Kyo and publicly executed."
"What of Yukio, my half-brother?"
"I have heard nothing," said Lord Bokuden, waving away these family griefs as if he were trying to drive away a mosquito. "But you can see that your family's cause is hopeless. From now on the Shima must be thoroughly Takashi."
"I understand," said Hideyori. "I ask you in the name of whatever bond existed between you and my father to give me shelter for a few days. I think I will continue to travel north. I need time to make plans and to send out messages."
Standing beside him, Jebu turned and looked at Hideyori. It was a serene profile that bore the mark of authority. There was an unbelievable calm and strength about this fifteen-year-old boy, Jebu thought. Another youth might have prostrated himself before Lord Bokuden, blubbering for mercy.. Hideyori might be the last living male in his family, but he was absolutely controlled. Jebu remembered The Zinja Manual: "He who does not feel fear is dead." What was the price of Hideyori's control?
After the monk and his charge had left the room, Lord Bokuden took Taniko's letter out of his desk and re-read it. The letter was in Chinese.
Honoured Father,
This is to warn you that Hideyori, the heir to the chieftainship of the Muratomo clan, is said to be headed in your direction. I have never questioned your dealings with these warring clans, but neither am I unobservant. I have reason to think, therefore, that Hideyori may come to you for help.
At this moment the Takashi are in the ascendant, and you may be tempted to display your loyalty by sending Hideyori's head to Heian Kyo. I suggest that this young man may be worth more to you alive than dead.
As the Takashi grow more powerful they grow more arrogant and make more enemies. If Hideyori is alive, he will be the natural person for those enemies to rally around. Whoever has protected Hideyori will then hold the key to the future.
These suggestions are offered in all humility and in gratitude to you for having placed me here, where I can observe great events.
Your loving daughter, Taniko
Lord Bokuden grunted. What possessed this daughter of his to think she could advise him in as perilous a matter as this? Still, there was sense in what she said. But he had to assure the Takashi of his loyalty.
Taking up his brush, Bokuden began a letter to Sogamori.
Esteemed Minister of the Left,
I have Muratomo no Hideyori. What shall I do with him? I shall hold him until I hear from you.
Tears formed rivulets in the white powder that coated Akimi's face. It is not pleasant to see a woman of the Court cry, thought Taniko.
"I loved Domei," Akimi said. "He was a warrior of force and fire, but he was a gentle, simple man as well. I loved him so much I went through the agony of going to see his head displayed at the execution ground. Now all I have left is Yukio, my sweet, beautiful boy. I fear his father may have condemned him to death."
"How?" asked Taniko.
"Domei's legacy to his family is a blood feud with the Takashi. The only way the Takashi can protect themselves is to kill all his sons. And Yukio is in their power."
Taniko put her hand on her friend's. "What can I do to help?" She understood how Akimi felt about Domei. She had only to compare the feeling with her own for Jebu. It could have been Jebu's head on a pole overlooking Rokujo-ga-hara.
Akimi said, "If you will permit me to speak of your husband."
"Of course." Be careful now, Taniko told herself. In this house anyone could be hiding behind the panels, listening. So far I have said nothing to endanger myself.
"Your husband has great influence with Sogamori. And I believe-excuse me for saying it, but fear for my son's life makes me bold-when blood might be shed, Prince Horigawa is in the forefront of those who call for shedding it."
"I do not think Prince Horigawa would deny that," said Taniko dryly. "He would speak of the need to strengthen the power of the Emperor and to protect the government from treasonous factions."
Akimi bowed her head. "Of course. Only-my son is not a danger to the Emperor and he does not think of treason. He is a child. His only thoughts are of watching the wild birds on Mount Higashi and playing the flute. His flute-playing is-beautiful to hear-" She broke down in sobs.
Taniko felt tears fill her own eyes to overflowing. She pressed Akimi's hand in both her own. "I have no influence whatever with my husband, dear Akimi-san. But I will do what I can."
Akimi looked up. Weeping had destroyed her painted face. "Believe me, Taniko-san, I will do anything-anything at all-to save the life of my son."
The scowling, florid face of Sogamori appeared in Taniko's mind. She recalled his look of frustrated lust when his son, Kiyosi, had ridiculed him for attempting to woo Akimi. Sogamori, she thought, might do anything-anything at all-to have Akimi.
"I believe you can win Sogamori over," Taniko said, "if you are willing to pay the price. I can say no more now. Don't give up hope. I'll send word to you when the moment seems right."
On the fifteenth day of the Fifth Month of the Year of the Horse, Horigawa held a winding water banquet. Such affairs were a tradition that went back centuries. Horigawa chose the evening of the full moon, so that the silver disk would be reflected in the stream that wound through his garden. For seven days before the banquet Taniko resided at Horigawa's house to help oversee preparations.
She sent Moko to Akimi with a special message. The chances that Horigawa would find out what she was doing were all too good, she realized. If he did find out, he would undoubtedly punish her severely. But Akimi had lost nearly everything. To lose her son would kill her. Something inside Taniko-perhaps it was what Jebu called the Self-would not let her abandon her friend.
The evening of the banquet, the landscaped gardens around Prince Horigawa's mansion were bright with lanterns. Carriages pulled by oxen bedecked with ribbons and flowers rolled up before the main gateway. Servants ushered each guest to a designated place along the twisting banks of the stream. To enhance the beauty of his artificial brook Horigawa had added a few bridges, ponds and small waterfalls, as well as a number of new plants along its edges.
The guest of honour was Sogamori. He arrived last of all and was seated approximately at mid-point along the stream's course, so that he need be neither the first nor the last to recite a poem. His son, Kiyosi, who had already arrived, was seated a few paces downstream from his father. The other guests included courtiers, ministers and high-ranking Takashi.
Unknown to Horigawa, one other person was present. Lady Akimi had left her carriage some distance from the Shima mansion and, cloaked and hooded, had come the rest of the way on foot. Taniko let her in by a side gate.
Taniko was painfully aware of the risks of her plan. She might have misjudged Sogamori. Meeting Akimi at this banquet could have the opposite effect on him from what she intended. He might even be provoked to take action against the boy Yukio and against Akimi as well. As for Horigawa, even if the plan were successful, only the kami knew what that cruel and bloodthirsty man might do. Taniko sent Akimi to a vacant chamber in the women's pavilion, promising to come for her at an opportune time.
When the guests were seated, Horigawa gestured to Taniko, who filled a round-bottomed wine cup with hot sake and set it adrift at the head of the stream. As host, Horigawa began the recitation of poetry by picking up the cup, sipping from it and declaiming:
Straw dogs turn to ash
Under the Red Dragon's breath.
There was laughter and applause. No one doubted that the sacrificial straw dogs referred to the defeated Muratomo. From some courtiers, however, Taniko heard a murmur of distaste. For hundreds of years the best people of the capital had looked on fighting and bloodshed as activities fit only for savage beasts, certainly nothing to write poetry about.
The next guest along the stream bank took the cup out of the water, sipped the sake and said:
That pale cloud in flight-White smoke or a dragon's tail?
Most of the guests laughed, Sogamori loudest of all. Taniko looked beyond him at the handsome Kiyosi, who was staring pensively into the stream.
Horigawa had set the tone for the banquet, and most of the guests followed with poems on the martial theme, many of them ancient Chinese ballads of war. A few who disapproved recited poetry on subjects more traditional for a winding water banquet: flowers, the seasons, the moon. Whenever this happened, Taniko noticed, Sogamori glowered at the offender. Clearly, he wanted to celebrate his triumph.
After one elderly doctor of literature had recited, in a stately, old-fashioned style of declamation, a poem about the moon's reflection on the water, Sogamori suddenly rose. As the noble next to the doctor of literature drank and began to recite, Sogamori quietly stepped away from the stream and drew a small, dark object shaped like a cherry from his sleeve. He went over to a lamp and set fire to the stem of the cherry, then tossed it within a few feet of the learned doctor.
There was a noise like a thunderclap and a blinding flash. The old scholar leaped to his feet and nearly fell into the stream. Taniko was shocked and frightened. A harsh, powerful stench filled the garden. A puff of smoke drifted past the dwarf pine trees. It was as if Sogamori had unleashed an ugly, vicious demon.
A horrified silence had fallen over the banquet. It was broken at last by Sogamori's laughter.
"There's a new subject for poetry," he said loudly. Taniko glanced at Kiyosi and saw that he had his head down, staring resolutely at the stream, his expression a mixture-of embarrassment and disgust.
Horigawa, who should have been outraged at the disturbance, strolled over to Sogamori and said, "Most remarkable. Has the esteemed Minister of the Left taken up sorcery?"
Sogamori laughed and sat down. "Nothing magical. It's only a Chinese toy. I have a new man in my service, a barbarian from across the sea. He brought me a box of these little thunder balls. An amusing novelty, is it not?"
Taniko wondered about Sogamori's barbarian. Could he be from the same land Jebu's father had come from? Jebu had said nothing about these horrid fireballs.
Now it was Sogamori's turn to recite. He stood up, thrusting out his chest, and boomed out a Chinese poem about a battle that had been fought over a thousand years before:
His chariot horses draped in tiger skins,
Duke Wen charged the lords of Ch'en and Ts'ai.
The Right Division of Ch'u collapsed, Its battle flag dragging in the dust.
This was greeted with appreciative murmurs. Taniko observed that the old scholar who had been Sogamori's victim had left the banquet. After a few more poems, it was Kiyosi's turn to recite. Would he try to match his father in belligerence? Taniko wondered. Kiyosi remained seated, a thoughtful, faraway look in his eyes. He spoke in Chinese, so softly Horigawa's guests had to strain to hear.
Frontier war drums disrupt all men's travels.
I am fortunate enough to have brothers, but all are scattered; There's no longer a home where I might ask if they're dead or alive. How terrible it is that the fighting cannot stop!
There was total silence after Kiyosi had finished. He set his wine cup adrift and gazed after it as if he were quite alone. All eyes turned to Sogamori. If he had been annoyed by poems that neglected warfare, what would he do when his own son recited a poem that deplored it? The man on Kiyosi's right took the cup out of the water and held it in a trembling hand, afraid to begin speaking.
"Who wrote that?" Sogamori asked in a low, hoarse voice.
"Tu Fu, honoured Father," said Kiyosi. "One of the great poets of the T'ang dynasty."
Sogamori nodded. "What compassion. What depth of feeling. Truly, a poet who understands the sufferings of a war-torn land." With a lugubrious expression Sogamori reached for a wine cup and drank deeply.
Suddenly he grinned at Kiyosi. "My son's taste in poetry is flawless," he said proudly. "Just as his victory at the Imperial Palace shows that he has no peer in war."
Taniko could hear breaths being expelled throughout the group. An unpredictable man, Sogamori, she thought; a changeable man. There was no telling how he would react when she lured him to a secluded part of the garden to encounter Akimi.
The servants brought food, and the recitations resumed. Another cup of wine was launched down the stream, and another. The formality of the occasion began to dissolve.
People stood up and moved about. The flirtations constantly being conducted by courtiers took their toll on the guests, as this man or that woman slipped discreetly away from the stream to rendezvous in the safe seclusion of the trees. Among the guests who stayed in their places, conversation gradually took the place of recitation.
Taniko quietly left Horigawa's side, motioning to a maid to take over waiting on the prince and those near him. She hurried to the room where she had secreted Akimi.
"Now is the time."
"Taniko-san, I'm terrified. What if something goes wrong?"
"I'm terrified, too. What else can we do?"
"You did not have to do this much. I'll always be grateful to you, Taniko-san."
Returning to the banquet, Taniko unfolded the fan she had had painted especially for the occasion and took up a dish of sweetened fruits. She carried the dish to Horigawa, Sogamori and Kiyosi, who were deep in discussion.
"Nits make lice," Horigawa declared flatly.
"Twice in recent years the Takashi have been responsible for public executions," said Kiyosi. "Many think this scandalous. We have lost the goodwill of many important men, many families, and the people in general, because they view these killings with horror."
Taniko offered Sogamori an orange slice skewered on a sliver of wood. The heavyset Takashi chieftain smiled broadly at her. Taniko could see he must have been a very handsome man twenty years ago.
Smacking his lips after the orange slice, Sogamori said, "What have those executions to do with this question?"
"The Takashi are already called butchers," Kiyosi said. "It is your advice that has got us that name, Prince Horigawa." The young man's dark eyes blazed at the prince. "Do you want us to be known as child murderers, too?"
"Nits make lice," Horigawa repeated. "Let Hideyori and Yukio live, and they will trouble the Takashi for years to come. Kill them now, and they will be forgotten tomorrow. To kill a grown man sometimes takes a war. To snuff out the life of a child is quite easy." He snapped his fingers.
Her heart pounding, Taniko chose that moment, when Kiyosi and Horigawa were glaring at each other, to reach out, squeeze Sogamori's hand and place in it a slip of green-tinted paper, folded, with twisted ends. On it Akimi had written:
All must surrender
To the Red Dragon's power And none disobey.
In the forest he may work
His will on her whom he meets.
The meaning should be plain enough, Taniko thought.
When he noticed the paper in his hand, Sogamori turned to look at her, startled. Then his round face beamed knowingly.
Taniko hid behind her fan, letting him see the painting on it. It was unmistakably a representation of the shrine of the Beautiful Island Princess on Itsukushima, built and maintained by the Takashi family. Sogamori and Kiyosi had been on pilgrimage to that shrine when Domei raised his insurrection. Taniko stood, bowed to the three men and withdrew into the shadows. She hoped Horigawa was too intent on his argument to notice her departure.
When she was among the trees on the edge of the garden a hand caught her arm. It was Akimi. Taniko looked back over her shoulder. Sogamori was reading the poem, holding it so Horigawa and Kiyosi could not see it. He slipped it into his sleeve and stood up. Squinting into the shadows, he tried to see Taniko.
Taniko handed her fan to Akimi and withdrew behind a tall stand of bamboo. Sogamori said something to Horigawa and Kiyosi that made them both laugh. He stretched and strolled towards the trees with an elaborate show of casualness.
Holding the fan before her face, Akimi stepped into Sogamori's path. As he approached her, she drew him deeper into the darkness.
"The painting on your fan shows exquisite taste, dear lady," he said, reaching out for her.
"Thank you, my lord," said Akimi with a light laugh.
"You do not sound like-I must see you," said Sogamori, taking Akimi's wrist and pulling the fan away from her face. He gasped when he recognized her.
"Is this some trick?"
"You may call it so if you wish, my lord. It was my poem that my friend Lady Taniko gave you. It was I who wished to meet you here."
Still holding Akimi's wrist, Sogamori looked down at her. "I was struck by your radiant beauty the first time I saw you at Court. I have never dared hope. You were always his. How can you come to me now, when it was I who destroyed him?"
"A woman can admire more than one man, my lord. The enmities of men do not mean so much to women. Because of him, I could never approach you. Now he is gone, and nothing stands between us, if you still deign to look upon me."
"You will be mine, then?" Sogamori was fairly panting.
Taniko felt tears burn her eyes as she thought of what her friend was sacrificing.
"My lord, I fear his angry ghost. But there is a way that we can set his spirit at rest. Then I can give myself to you fully."
"What is that?"
"That you promise to spare his children."
A few days later Horigawa came to the Shima mansion in a rage. Alone with Taniko, he seized her arm and twisted it violently until she pulled away from him.
"I have done nothing to deserve this treatment, Your Highness."
"Lord Sogamori has announced that he will spare the lives of the two Muratomo brats. An example of samurai benevolence, he calls it. The tenderness of a warrior. As if the samurai could know anything of ethics. It is like dressing a monkey in a courtier's robes. It is his lust for Lady Akimi that drives him to this foolishness. She beds with him now. This is your doing. Akimi came to visit you before my banquet. She met Sogamori at the banquet, even though she was not invited. I detect your hand in all this, my clever young lady of Kamakura." He advanced on her, his eyes narrowed to slits, his nostrils flaring, his face pale.
Taniko bowed her head. "As Your Highness says, I am just a child from the provinces. How could I possibly have any influence in these high matters?"
Horigawa turned from her, pacing the room. "That young dog who came to kill me at Daidoji-he is to live. In the care of your father. Your father! After Domei was defeated he disappeared, and when he reappears it is in Kamakura, at your father's house."
"Do you think I sent him to my father, Your Highness? There is no way I could have done that. Doubtless, the young Muratomo was passing through Kamakura, and my father, being a loyal supporter of the Takashi, stopped him and held him."
"Oh, doubtless, doubtless. How do I know what passed between the two of you while I lay buried alive? When I think of the hours I spent under all that weight of dirt-well, you shall see what it is like to be buried alive." He stared at her with such hatred that Taniko, despite her contempt for him, was terrified.
"What do you mean?"
"You will not remain in Heian Kyo to thwart me again. As your husband I command you to move to my house at Daidoji. You will live there. I am not free to deal with you as I truly wish, because I need the support of your family. But I will keep you from tampering with my affairs. Prepare yourself. I expect you to be ready to move by tomorrow morning."
Oh, merciful Buddha, no, thought Taniko. He takes from me the only thing that makes life bearable. To leave the capital, to go into exile, no. If I can't be here at the centre of things he might as well kill me. I'll die there at Daidoji, of grief and boredom.
She knew it was useless to plead with him. Any sign that she was suffering would please him and confirm him in his decision. Two women had virtually thrown their lives away to save Akimi's son, Yukio. She could only hope he would grow up to be worth it.
The Muratomo were finished, thought Jebu. Almost all the leaders of the clan were dead. Hideyori was as much Lord Bokuden's prisoner as his ward. Jebu himself could do no more for Domei's family. He worked his way southward towards the capital, still serving the Muratomo as the Order commanded. But the wings of the White Dragon had been clipped. Any lives lost now were being lost for nothing.
He was trudging over terraces of harvested rice. Behind him was another lost battle, if it deserved to be called a battle. The Takashi had ambushed a dozen hungry Muratomo samurai with whom Jebu had been riding. Jebu had warned them it might happen, but the Muratomo warriors had insisted that no true samurai would attack another samurai without proper warning and challenge. Whoever was leading the Takashi apparently didn't care about such niceties.
Outnumbered many times over, the Muratomo samurai had thrown away their lives. What good had their sacrifice done the dead Domei?
Jebu reminded himself to think as a Zinja. To a Zinja there was no good or evil, failure or success, life or death. The Zinja simply threw his energy into the task at hand and did not concern himself about the outcome. From that point of view, his Muratomo comrades, alive a few hours ago, now dead, had lost nothing. At the very least, they no longer suffered the pangs of hunger.
A rider emerged from the woods behind Jebu, galloping directly across the rice stubble. There was no point in trying to outrun him, and no place to hide. Jebu quickly slipped off his bow and arrows and laid them at his feet. He nocked one arrow and laid it across the bow. He drew his sword and waited.
The samurai approached to within ten feet of Jebu and stopped. He looked sleek, strong and prosperous, like a well-cared-for war-horse. Quite different from the ragged, half-starved Muratomo samurai Jebu had been riding with. The laces holding together the many small plates of his armour were dyed a deep magenta.
"I saw you riding with that pack of Muratomo dogs we jumped, and I saw you sneak away when the battle went against you. I will not tell you my name and lineage because you do not deserve the courtesy. You are merely to be exterminated, like vermin." He unslung his huge bow and positioned an arrow.
Jebu stood silently. The instant he saw the samurai's fingers twitch to release the bowstring he threw himself to the ground. The ordinary warrior always gives a warning-a movement of the hand or fingers, a tensing of the arm muscles-when he is about to move. He consciously commands his movements, unlike the Zinja, who acts as the Self directs.
As the thirteen-hand-span samurai arrow whistled overhead, Jebu had his own ready. He stood up and fired. The point of his willow-leaf arrow struck the samurai in the left eye and buried itself deep in his head. Jebu felt no pleasure as he watched the samurai slide out of his saddle. It was a bit too much like killing a duck sitting in the water.
Jebu seized the horse's reins. Holding the horse with one hand and speaking gently to it, he set his foot on the dead man's forehead and pulled the arrow from the crushed eye. He wiped the arrow and returned it to its quiver. He took the man's sword and scabbard and strapped them to the saddle. Then he asked forgiveness of the samurai he had killed and looked around, trying to decide which way to ride.
From horseback he could see further. Behind him was the forest where they had been ambushed. All around him were rice fields. Before him were the hills and mountains, and beyond the mountains was Heian Kyo. It was the first time he had been this close to the capital since last winter when he had ridden out of it with the defeated Muratomo army.
Now it hardly mattered where he was. The Takashi controlled everywhere. Any place he went for food and a night's shelter would be the home of Takashi adherents or people who now claimed to be. He would have to say he was a Takashi man as well. A good thing about being a Zinja was that you could present yourself as serving one side or the other as you chose, or else you could pretend to be a simple monk minding his own business. Unless, of course, someone recognized you, as the now-dead Takashi samurai had.
But he had not eaten in over seven days. His Zinja training had inured him to going without food and even water for long stretches of time, but he could feel himself growing weaker. At this rate, soon he would no longer be able to draw his bow. He would have to stop somewhere. If we did not have to eat, he thought, all of us would be safe and free. It is when the bird lands on the ground to peck at seeds that the cat pounces.
Riding south towards the hills he caught sight of a manor house overlooking the rice paddies. Whoever owns that house is undoubtedly lord of this land, he thought. An important landowner would have to take one side or another. But this close to Heian Kyo and undamaged, it must be a Red Dragon house. The huts of peasants were clustered around the base of the hill on which the manor stood, and more huts climbed the hill behind it, where a high waterfall turned a mill wheel three times the height of a man.
He decided against asking the peasants for their hospitality. It would endanger them, and they had little enough to share. No, the thing to do was ride boldly in through the gate, present himself as a Takashi messenger on an important mission, and demand shelter, food and provisions. While he was at it, he might get some news of the Muratomo and find out where he could rejoin them.
He rode through the rice fields and up to the gate of the mansion. A group of guards stood by it.
"I am Yoshizo, a monk of the Order of Zinja," said Jebu, using the name of a brother he knew was working for the Takashi. "I am on my way to Heian Kyo with a message for His Excellency, the Minister of the Left from-" Jebu said the first name that came to him "-his kinsman, Lord Shima no Bokuden of Kamakura. I require a night's lodging and food."
The guards didn't move. "That's a samurai sword and a samurai saddle," one said, gesturing with the naginata. "I didn't think Zinja monks used such fancy equipment."
"Quiet," said another guard. "He can kill you so quickly you'd be dead a minute ago. We'll find out soon enough if he's from Lord Bokuden. Come on in, monk."
The first guard brightened up. "Yes! Come in, monk." He grinned, stepped aside and waved the long-handled naginata towards the open gateway.
The manor house was old, Jebu saw, perhaps a hundred years old, built at a time when there was no need for fortifications. Both the stone wall around it, twice the height of a man, and the gate were new. A gang of workmen was putting up a wooden guard tower at one corner of the wall.
Jebu dismounted. One of the guards said, "I'll take your horse down to the stables, monk."
"Very good," said Jebu. There would be no easy escape now. He was angry with himself for the vanity of his sword-collecting project and for not getting rid of the saddle, or disguising it. If the samurai he killed were a local personage, the sword, the saddle and the horse might be recognized. But it was now too late to do anything but keep walking onwards.
The other guard took him into the courtyard and slammed and barred the gate. "Chief of guards!" he called. An armoured man wearing a sword immediately stepped from a building to the right of the manor house, trailed by a group of men carrying naginatas. This household had its own little army, Jebu thought.
"Chief Goshin," the guard said, "this monk claims to be from Lord Bokuden on a mission to the Minister of the Left in Heian Kyo. But he has a samurai's horse and equipment. I thought to myself, we've got a way of testing whether he's really from Lord Bokuden."
"Of course," said Goshin. He was a squat man with a frog-like face, huge eyes, flat nose, and wide mouth. "I'll go see her." He turned to his men. "Keep this monk at the ends of your naginatas. If he makes a move, skewer him at once. Don't hesitate, or you'll be dead. I've run up against these Zinja before." He spat out "Zinja" as if it were a foul word. Goshin turned and strode into the manor house.
Jebu stood in the centre of a ring of levelled naginatas. He looked at the guards calmly and kept his hands away from his swords and his bow. What kind of test did they have in mind, he wondered.
The sound of hammering distracted him. He looked over at the men building the guard tower. One of the carpenters, a short man who gestured and shouted orders to the others, looked familiar, but he was too far away for Jebu to see his face.
"All right," said Goshin. "There he is, my lady. Do you recognize him?"
Jebu turned from the guard tower to the veranda of the manor house. Through the blinds he could just make out a shadowy figure.
Then he heard a light voice, like the chiming of temple bells. "I have seen this monk visit my father. Who could forget that hideous red hair?"
Jebu felt himself go cold and then hot. He wanted to laugh and call out to Taniko, run up the steps, push his way into the manor house and put his arms around her. He forced himself to look coldly in the direction of her voice as if he had never seen her before. He reminded himself that he was a monk named Yoshizo.
She went on, "Of course, he could know my father and still be working for the Muratomo. It is my father's custom to give his messengers a password to identify themselves to any members of the Shima family they might meet. Did Lord Bokuden give you such a word, monk?"
Jebu played along. "He did, my lady, but it is for your ears alone. I must take the liberty of whispering it to you."
"Come up, close to these blinds, then," came the icy voice.
"Careful, my lady," said the frog-faced Goshin. "He might just be trying to get close enough to you to seize you as a hostage."
"Goshin, I command you now, if he takes me hostage you are to kill both of us immediately." She paused significantly. "I'm quite sure Prince Horigawa would want it that way."
Jebu slowly and carefully laid his bow and arrows and his two swords on the raked earth of the courtyard.
"It would be rude of me to approach you armed, my lady," he said. Then he looked coldly at the guards. "But let no one touch my weapons."
"A Zinja is armed even when empty-handed," a guard muttered.
Jebu strode forward, climbed the steps and stood beside the screen that hid Taniko. A faint scent of lilac came to him, and his head reeled. He feared the pounding of his heart must be visible to all. Goshin stood close to him, and Jebu gave him the same hard stare he had given the guards.
"This man is not authorized to hear the word," he said.
"Goshin?" said Taniko.
Grunting angrily, Goshin took a few steps away from Jebu. He drew his sword and stood poised to spring.
Leaning towards the screen until his lips were almost touching it, and looking into the bright eyes he glimpsed in the shadows beyond the screen, Jebu whispered, "The waterfowl is still snared in the lilac branch." He heard a faint sigh from within.
"Goshin," Taniko called, "this monk has given the correct password. He is a genuine messenger from my father. Since he is travelling to Minister Sogamori, he will see my husband. I have a message for my husband which I will give this monk."
Goshin glowered. "My lady, I still don't trust him. There are many ways he could have learned this password. And there is the business of the samurai equipment he was-carrying."
Jebu turned to Goshin. "You are quite correct. Now that I have been identified as, I hope, a friend of this house, I can admit that I did steal the horse. Not far from here a party of Muratomo samurai was riding through the forest. I was with a Takashi band waiting in ambush. One of the enemy tried to escape on his horse. I jumped from a tree, and took his horse away from him. He seemed so unhappy about losing his horse that I killed him to spare him further grief."
Taniko greeted this story with her tinkling laughter, and soon all the servants and guards near by joined in. Only Goshin stood unsmiling, his bulging eyes filled with anger.
"Did you not already have a horse?" he demanded.
Jebu laughed. "Clearly you do not know Lord Shima no Bokuden, or you would not have asked that question. Lord Bokuden is not the most generous of employers. He felt my legs were strong enough to take me to Heian Kyo."
Behind the screen Taniko laughed again.
Goshin broke in. "You do not behave as Prince Horigawa would want you to, my lady. You are too familiar with this monk."
"Be silent, Goshin!" Taniko snapped. "My husband did not appoint you to teach me manners. I am mistress of this house, and in my husband's absence I rule here. You are dismissed. Monk, wait there. A maid will take you to my chamber when I am ready to receive you."
"May I collect my weapons, my lady?" Jebu asked.
Goshin said, "I will keep them for you, monk. You don't need weapons here, since you are such a great friend of this house. Ask for them when you are ready to leave."
Reluctant to entrust his bow and arrows and his swords to this man, Jebu saw that he had no choice. He bowed. "Thank you."
Shortly afterwards, a maid led Jebu to the women's quarters and down a series of twisting corridors. As he had long ago been taught to do on entering a strange house, Jebu constructed and committed to memory a mental map of everything he could see.
At last he entered a large, dim room with a sleeping platform in the centre. On the platform was a screen of state whose curtains were painted to depict snow-covered mountains. Overcome with excitement, Jebu strode straight for the screen, meaning to step around it and see Taniko.
"Stop," she called from behind the curtain in a warning tone. Of course, Jebu thought, they must be under surveillance. He had allowed himself to be carried away by emotion, just the thing a Zinja was not supposed to do.
In a low voice Taniko went on, "We can be watched, but if we speak softly enough we cannot be heard. Sit down and talk to me. I am so happy to see you, my heart is like a butterfly just burst from its cocoon."
"When we parted I told myself I must never expect to meet you again," said Jebu. "Yet I knew I would think of you for the rest of my life. Not a day has gone by that I have not remembered that night on Mount Higashi overlooking the lights of Heian Kyo."
"I have not forgotten either. There has been nothing in my marriage to replace the memory of that night. I have known nothing but horror and sorrow and ugliness since we parted."
Jebu felt as if a hand were crushing his heart. "How sorry I am to hear that. It would be like death to know that you had forgotten me, but I would accept it if it meant you had found happiness. We should have run away together instead of letting you go to that man. Tell me about the prince."
"He is cold and ugly and cruel. Let us not speak of him. Why are you travelling under a false name? Are you really working for the Muratomo?"
"Yes. The cause of the White Dragon is collapsing, but the Order has commanded me to stay with it."
"It is unfortunate that you said you were going to Sogamori," Taniko said. "He is well known in this house. For you to claim a connection with him raises suspicion. Horigawa is with Sogamori now."
At that moment Jebu heard bare feet on the wooden floor behind him. He whirled.
"Shiké!" It was Moko, scuttling towards them and bowing from across the room.
"You do not know him, Moko!" Taniko snapped from behind her screen. "He is dead if they find out who he really is."
Moko stopped where he was, his face pale. He threw himself down on his knees.
"Forgive me, mistress. Forgive me, shiké. Moko is so stupid-" Jebu smiled and patted him on the back.
"You can speak to him, but try to seem as if you are speaking to me," said Taniko. "Supposedly I am giving you instructions about the new guard tower."
Moko said, "I am so happy to see you, shiké. I have missed you so much. But if you want to do the sensible thing you will run out of this room, through the garden and over the wall and across the rice paddies and not stop until you reach the woods. These guards will not rest until they kill you."
"They have no reason to kill me."
"These are men who need no reason to kill."
"I will not leave here-not yet."
"I understand, shiké." Moko nodded towards Taniko, behind her screen. "She is the reason I stay in this hellhole with Horigawa and his bandits."
"We can safely talk no longer," said Taniko. "Go now, Moko." Moko bowed first to Taniko, then to Jebu. "My lady. Shiké." He hurried away.
Taniko said, "You will have to leave me now. But I hope you can remember the way to my bedchamber. You will come here tonight." The words were more a demand than a request. Through a small opening at the top of the screen Jebu could see brown eyes looking into his.
"You must be silent as only a Zinja can be. I am watched constantly."
Smiling, Jebu stood and bowed. "As my lady commands." He turned and left the room, once again imprinting on his mind a picture of the corridors through which he passed.
Outside the women's quarters, Jebu found himself in the garden. He wished for brush and ink so that he might bring a poem to her tonight. The thought of the night to come filled him with a powerful yearning. Men whose constant companion was death needed women in a way most men couldn't understand, he thought. He wondered what Prince Horigawa had been doing to her. The thought that Horigawa might have hurt her filled him with rage. He hoped he could be tender enough with Taniko to wash away all the anguish she might have suffered.
The winter sky was empty and grey. The garden seemed bare and sad. How could a man such as Horigawa have a garden that would look anything but sad? Jebu stood awhile, letting pebbles drop through his fingers into the brook, then turned to leave.
The unseen sun was setting and the early winter evening was coming on, the empty grey sky turning to a cold black. Jebu walked through the main yard of the estate just as the gate was being shut for the night. He went into the building that housed the manor's guards.
The men lounging in the guard room eyed him closely. He saw his bow and arrows and his two swords-his. own Zinja sword and the sword he had taken from the samurai who tried to kill him-hanging on the wall where all the other weapons had been gathered. He asked one of the men where he could get something to eat, and provisions for his departure in the morning.
"Just go to the kitchen and tell them you're a guest of the manor. There are so many people here, they're always cooking. If you have any trouble, just tell them you're a friend of Lady Taniko."
"Thank you." Jebu smiled at the man and left. In the kitchen a cook served him a meal of bean paste, rice, soup, cucumbers and slices of fish. The man seemed used to cooking for military men and transients, Jebu noted. With practised swiftness the cook packed a box with enough provisions for a two-day journey.
"That's more than enough to get you to Heian Kyo, even if you travel slowly," he said.
Back in the barracks, Jebu settled down in a corner to meditate. He wanted very much to take his weapons from the wall, but knowing the guards probably had orders to stop him, he resisted the urge. He looked around for Goshin, but did not see him.
"Hey, monk!" It was the man who had directed him to the kitchen. "Want to share some of our warmth with us?" He pointed to a jar of sake being heated over a brazier.
"Monks don't drink sake, fool," one of the other men said.
"Thank you," said Jebu. "I'm not used to sake. I'm afraid it would go to my head."
The men talking around the brazier smiled and nodded to Jebu and went back to talking among themselves. Jebu sat cross-legged against the wall and closed his eyes. With Goshin gone, the atmosphere seemed much more friendly. One could even walk into this room and be unable to tell whether the samurai here fought for the Takashi or the Muratomo.
Jebu had deliberately chosen to sleep in a corner beside a crack in the screen. A stream of chill air came through the opening, but he ignored the discomfort, and as the long winter evening wore on he pushed the screen open by imperceptible degrees until there was a space about as wide as his hand. There were extra quilts scattered around the room for protection against the cold, and Jebu unobtrusively gathered several of these and carried them to his spot. The lamps burned out and one by one the men went to sleep.
When the room was dark Jebu bundled the quilts together on his futon so that it would look as if he were sleeping there. Then, glancing around the room to make sure he was not being watched, he pushed the screen open. On his hands and knees he slipped through and partially closed the screen again.
Looking around the darkened compound, he waited until he had spotted the spear-carrying guards walking their posts. Then, bent low, running silently on his bare feet and keeping to the shadows, he circled around the rear of the main house. Now he was in the garden. Neither moon nor stars shone tonight. He crept through the garden, making use of each small tree and shrub for cover.
At last he crouched by a corner of the women's house. He reviewed Taniko's directions as he searched the outer screens of the house for one that, as she had promised, was left partly ajar. When he found his opening, he thought of water and flowed up the steps and past the screen. Inside the women's house it was totally dark. He stood perfectly still for a moment, listening to rustlings and soft breathing coming from all directions. There was a strong scent of flower petals. After a few moments his eyes adjusted to the darkness in the building and he began to see where the walls and screens were. If he made a mistake and entered the wrong room, the guards would be on him instantly. He counted the doorways and turnings, re-creating his mental map of the building.
Small fingers seized his arm. He stopped moving instantly, stifling the impulse to attack. He peered at his captor, putting his face close to the pale face that looked up at him. It was Taniko. He stood motionless for a long time, revelling in her closeness, the light touch of her breath on his cheek. He tangled his fingers in her unbound hair and, at last, pressed his face against hers. He let her lead him the rest of the way to her chamber.
Taniko's form was a slightly darker shadow against the general darkness of the women's house. Most of the fires were out, and there was a chill in the air. Together they mounted the sleeping platform, and Jebu lay down, his head resting on her single wooden pillow, while she drew curtains around them. She lay down beside him. The long years they had been apart, the danger of their coming together, roused him and made him eager to touch her, but for the moment he held himself back.
Taniko's arm went around him, and her cheek brushed his. "I have longed for you every night since we parted," she whispered. "The hope that I might spend another night with you has kept me alive. I have never forgotten Heian Kyo in the moonlight."
"Nor I," said Jebu. "I weep when I think of what you must be suffering." His fingertips stroked the nape of her neck.
Taniko drew back from him a little. Even in the almost total darkness he could see the glitter of intelligence in her eyes. "I will live. And I will learn. And some day, perhaps, I will use the knowledge somehow. I am learning what power is, and how men struggle for it."
"Taniko. Run away with me tonight. We won't stop running till we reach Hokkaido. We'll live on a farm on a mountainside unknown to everyone."
"Do you really think you could give up being a Zinja and become a farmer?" she whispered. "I know I could not give up the world I am discovering, even though every day of my marriage to Horigawa is torture. I will escape Horigawa somehow, but it will not be to hide in the north."
Jebu felt his eyes grow hot and wet. Her life was so wretched that she was deceiving herself with wild dreams. But he knew she would remain firm about not running away with him. Tonight was all they would have. He put his hand under her robes, found her breast and held it gently, feeling the nipple tickle the palm of his hand. He made himself touch her as lightly as autumn leaves fall on a forest floor, even though he was raging inside to spring upon her as a tiger seizes a deer. He waited until she had warmed to him, till the insistence of her movements told him her eagerness matched his. Then he pressed himself upon her and she drew him in. Their bodies were fully united for the first time. In total silence they climbed a mountain of pleasure together, leaped together from the summit, and drifted down together like falling snow.
Jebu felt a pang of regret that it should be over so quickly. But he held her, his hands exploring her body, and he discovered that their union was not by any means over. This time he silently guided her into the position favoured by the Zinja, she sitting on his crossed legs with her own legs locked behind his back. This time there was a whole mountain range of pleasure for her, while his own peak took exquisitely long to reach.
For most of the night they lay together, sometimes talking in whispers, sometimes joining their bodies. Jebu discovered energy and desire in himself surpassing all previous experience.
At last Taniko said, "I heard a bird call. It will be dawn soon. You must go now while the night still protects us."
"I would stop the sun from rising if I could."
"That is not possible, Jebu. Least of all in the Sunrise Land." She laughed softly. "You will live, and I will live, and we will do what we must, and other nights like this will be ours again."
Tiptoeing on bare feet, she led Jebu through the dark corridors of the women's house to the open screen where he had entered. Again avoiding guards, Jebu crept back across the compound and pushed his way in through the space in the guard-room screen. He lay down on top of the bundle of quilts he had used to represent himself. Pleasantly exhausted, he dozed.
He heard footsteps. The entrance screen to the guards' quarters slid back and the blaze of a torch filled the room. He sat up, then sprang to his feet as he saw Goshin and Horigawa enter.
"That one!" Goshin cried.
Horigawa's small, square face turned in Jebu's direction. The narrow eyes seemed to glow as he nodded.
"I know who this man is. He is a monk named Jebu, who fights for the Muratomo. He was hired by Domei himself. Who else could possess such outlandish looks?" He smiled and turned to Goshin. "Please kill him at once, Goshin-san." He stepped back to watch, with a look of relish on his face.
Goshin was accompanied by three samurai in full armour, but he roared, "Every man to arms! Get your weapons down off the walls and kill the spy!" The sleepy guardsmen scrambled for their swords, spears, and naginatas. Jebu saw his own bow and sword, untouched and unnoticed, still hanging on the wall.
If he must die, there would never be a better day than today, after the night with Taniko. To die now would simply spare him any more of the suffering of being parted from her.
A half circle of men came at him, spears levelled. He waited until they were at the right distance, then threw his body into a handstand, delivering a stunning kick to the jaw of one of the spear carriers, then somersaulted past the group. This put him among Goshin's three armoured men, who were caught by surprise. Jebu drove his stiffened fingers into one man's throat and plucked the long samurai sword out of the suddenly strengthless hand.
Jebu whirled the sword in a huge, whistling arc, and the three men backed away. This left Goshin exposed. With a backhanded sweep of the sword, using all the strength in his right arm, Jebu beheaded the chief guard.
Now he was face-to-face with Horigawa. But beyond Horigawa he saw his weapons. The men in the room were recovering from the initial attack. By the time he killed Horigawa they would be upon him. If he went for his weapons he had a chance of getting out alive. He did not care that much for saving his own life, but something-the Self perhaps-told him he had a duty to go on living.
Horigawa cringed away from Jebu, not even drawing his sword to defend himself. Jebu darted past him to the weapons that hung unguarded on the wall. Into his belt he thrust the sheathed sword he had brought with him. He leaned the sword he had just taken from Horigawa's guardsman against the wall. Slinging his quiver over his back, he drew his bow and fired a volley of arrows into the crowd of guardsmen.
Make every arrow count. Demoralized by the death of one leader and the cowardice of the other, the guardsmen milled around uncertainly, and four of them died as Jebu's arrows struck home. One of them was the man who had offered him sake.
He took the Zinja sword down from the wall and buckled it around his waist. Slinging the bow over his shoulder, he drew the Zinja sword with his left hand and with his right hand picked up the samurai sword he had set down a moment before. Brandishing a blade in each hand, he advanced on the remaining guardsmen. Staring up at him, they started to back away, stumbling over the bodies on the floor.
"Protect me!" Horigawa screamed. "Protect me! He wants to kill me!" The guardsmen formed a ring around the prince.
Again Jebu saw that he could either attack Horigawa or escape. He praised the Zinja training that enabled him to keep anger and vindictiveness out of the fight. He bolted for the screen in the corner of the room where he had slept, smashed through the oiled paper and out into the pre-dawn cold.
As he ran he slid the samurai sword into his belt beside the prize he had taken earlier, and sheathed his Zinja sword. Running still, he drew the grapple out of his inner pocket, unfolded it and threw it at the top of the wall. He pulled himself hand over hand up the silk cable, dropped down the other side and ran for the stable. There it was, a low building, black against the purple sky.
A guard stood at the entrance to the stable. "Get away," Jebu snarled. "I'll kill you if I have to." The man ran, shouting loudly for help. Looking after him, Jebu could see lanterns bobbing around the gate of the manor and he heard shouts of alarm and command.
He entered the stable, breathing in the strong, warm smell of horses. It was too dark to find the horse he had ridden here. He looked into the first stall and saw a big, dark shape. There was a row of bridles hanging on the stable wall. He took one down, went into the first stall and threw it on the horse, buckling it in place quickly and pulling the horse firmly out of the stable. The horse whickered fearfully and tossed its head.
"I know you've never met me before," said Jebu, "but you can save my life if you will." Hoping the horse would be strong, fast and obedient, Jebu scrambled on its bare back and dug his heels into its sides. The horse sprang forward and broke immediately into a gallop, as much from fright as from Jebu's command. Jebu slapped its neck encouragingly and over the wind shouted, "Good! Good!" into its ear.
He looked over his shoulder. The lanterns were streaming towards the stable. He would have a long start on them, though. He would be all right if he could make it into the wooded hills north of Heian Kyo. He might even find Zinja monks who would shelter him.
It was foolhardy to ride this fast through unfamiliar country in darkness, but he had no choice. He was glad he'd had to fight his way out of Horigawa's manor; it had taken his mind off the agony of leaving Taniko. But what was he leaving her to face? He could only hope that, whatever happened between her and Horigawa, she would live through it.
Sword drawn, Horigawa shoved aside the screen to Taniko's bedchamber and strode in. Taniko had heard the commotion at the guards' quarters and the men running across the compound. To quiet her pounding heart she insisted to herself that Jebu must have escaped.
Horigawa lit a lamp. His black eyes glowed at her in its reflected light.
She yawned and said, "You are discourteous to me, Your Highness, bursting in and waking me at this hour. I am not prepared to receive you properly."
"It appears you have had other guests this night," Horigawa rasped. "Why do you come here with sword drawn, my lord? Do you expect to find enemies here in the women's quarters?"
"Yes. He might have fled to you. He killed Goshin and four other men."
He was still alive! He had escaped. Wonderful news! Goshin was the ablest of Horigawa's men. With him dead it was unlikely the others would be able to catch Jebu.
"The loss of Goshin, especially, is a great blow to me. It was he who rode to intercept me as I was returning here from Heian Kyo, and who persuaded me to speed my return to catch this deceitful monk."
Taniko could not resist taunting Horigawa. "It occurs to me that none of your men would be dead if you had not insisted on ordering them to attack a Zinja monk. The monk would have come and gone quietly without harming anyone."
Baring his teeth, Horigawa snarled, "You are to blame for those deaths. You knew who he was. You permitted him entry into this house under a false name."
"Yes, I tried to protect him. He is the man who brought me safely to you from Kamakura. He fought and killed to protect me. Your men would have executed him on the spot if I had revealed his identity."
"He fights for the Muratomo. It was your duty to order the death of any Muratomo supporter who entered this house." He glowered at her. "Just what is your interest in this monk, that you were at such pains to protect him? Is he your lover?"
"My conduct has always been correct, Your Highness."
"Has it? We shall see." Suddenly Horigawa lunged at her and threw her down on the bed platform. She felt helpless, and in a momentary panic she pushed and kicked against him. He was trying to part her robes.
"Don't fight me," he gasped. "If you've done nothing wrong, you have nothing to fear." He had exposed the lower part of her body now, and he was peering at her and probing at her with his nasty, skinny little fingers. How lucky that she had cleansed herself after being with Jebu. It was a practice her mother had taught her, explaining that it was a wise precaution for women who didn't want to have too many babies. Men, said her mother, knew nothing about such things.
"No sign," Horigawa muttered, releasing her and stepping back. "If I had caught you with this Jebu last night, I would surely have killed you. Perhaps I will kill you anyway." He seized her hand. "He was here in your chamber yesterday talking to you. You and that carpenter, that cross-eyed fool. What were you talking about? Are you spies for the Muratomo?"
"If anyone in this house has secret dealings with the Muratomo, it is not I or the carpenter, my lord," said Taniko pointedly. This cruel hypocrite would have killed Jebu as a Muratomo spy and was constantly howling in the councils of the Takashi for the deaths of all leaders of the Muratomo faction. But she knew that messages had passed between Horigawa and Muratomo no Hideyori, the young man who had come to kill him, who was still in exile at her father's house in Kamakura.
Horigawa turned white at her words. "How dare you?" he sputtered. "You could cost me my life if anyone believed- I think I will kill you!" His fear turned to rage, and he seized her little finger and bent it back, grinding his teeth. The finger broke, and she screamed. Without thinking she brought her fist around and drove it into his small, round belly. Gasping, he threw down her hand and backed away from her, holding his middle.
"You little snake!" he screamed. "I should cut you to pieces. I would have every right to. But I still need your father's goodwill. One day you will pay a high price for the indignities you have heaped upon me. And you will go on paying, for the rest of your life. That"-he pointed to the finger which she held tightly to ease the pain-"is only the beginning. Now I'm going to get that carpenter. He won't get off as easily as you have. He will suffer more than you can imagine, until he tells me all he knows about that Muratomo spy."
"He knows nothing. Spare him, please!"
"If his suffering causes you pain, then he shall surely suffer."
"If you plan on hurting me again," Taniko gasped, "you'd better bring your guards with you next time. You won't get near me by yourself."
"I have no wish to be near you," said Horigawa. "I will have my revenge in due time."
Early the following summer, Jebu was trudging up a mountain road on Kyushu, a road he had come to know very well as a boy. He reflected on the strangeness of percFived time. It had been three years since Taitaro sent him to Kamakura, but so much had happened to him, and he had done so much, that- it seemed more like six. But also it seemed as if it were only this morning that Taitaro and he had stood before the steps of the Waterfowl Temple and said a final goodbye to each other.
The monastery buildings had never been visible from the landward side. One climbed towards what appeared to be an empty hilltop for hours before any of the outlying buildings became visible through the pines. The Zinja preferred seclusion. Still, it seemed to Jebu he should have seen the farm buildings and the gatehouse before now, even at this distance.
When he had climbed a little further, he was shocked to find that the wooden wall around the monastery was gone. The gatehouse was gone. Only the gateway itself, with its tall pillars and crossbeams, was still standing. A gateway in a non-existent wall.
Now through the shrubbery he could see the foundation stones where the granary had stood. He walked to the gate. The bell that visitors used to announce themselves was still hanging from the gate way, along with the hammer for striking it. The Zinja had never bothered to guard the gate, but they were wary of trespassers. To enter without ringing the bell was considered a hostile act. Jebu struck the bell a resounding blow with the hammer and walked on in.
He passed the granary. It was not a ruin. There was simply nothing left of it, no scrap of burnt or broken wood, just the foundation stones. Shrubs were growing where the floor had been. The path turned, and he was out of the pine forest that covered the hillside. Now he was shocked to see that all the buildings-the stable, the men's quarters, the women's quarters, the guest house, the library-all were gone. Only the temple itself, a simple, square building with a peaked, slightly curving roof of thatch, still stood.
As Jebu stood there, trying to guess what had happened, Taitaro emerged from the temple.
"Jebu."
"Sensei."
They ran to each other and embraced. Then they separated, still gripping the other's arms, and looked at each other. Taitaro's hair and beard were neatly trimmed, but a good deal greyer. His eyes were older and more tired, the lines in his face deeper.
"Well," he said, "you've seen a lot. I can tell that. Your face doesn't look as much like a blank sheet of paper as it did when you left. Experience has written on it."
"What happened here, Father? Where is everyone?"
"You've travelled a long road, Son. You must be tired and hungry. Come. I've built myself a little hut at the edge of the cliff. You can rest, and I'll give you something to eat."
Jebu looked around, perplexed, as he followed Taitaro. His father seemed smaller and thinner than he remembered. Taitaro's hut, made of cedar frame, paper walls, thatched roof, and dirt floor, was barely large enough for the two of them. His sword, bow, and quiver of arrows hung from pegs on a beam; he pointed to empty pegs where Jebu could hang his own weapons.
Taitaro had dug a square hole in the floor for a fire. Now he lit the fire and set a pot of water on a brazier over it.
"The Order has kept you hired out to the Muratomo. You will remember, I told you that your vision of a white dragon meant that your destiny would be bound up with that of the White Dragon clan."
Jebu shrugged. "I came back here to have done with the war. I hoped to find refuge where I could refresh myself and perhaps make a new beginning."
"You must be sorely disappointed to find the place so desolate. I rather like it this way. That's why I willingly stayed behind when the others left."
"But why did everyone leave?"
"About two years after we sent you away, we were attacked by surprise at night by a troop of samurai. The fact that we could be taken by surprise at all shows that we were getting soft and did not deserve the name of Zinja. In any case, they killed our guards and rushed the monks' quarters. Of course, they made so much noise that we were awake and arming ourselves by the time they got here. They set fire to all the buildings. We lost most of our horses in the fire. A group of samurai attacked the women's quarters, and the women fought bravely and ferociously."
"Is Mother all right?"
"Yes, she's fine. After a short, fierce battle we drove off the samurai attacking the monks' quarters and killed many of them. Then we went to the aid of the women, who had fought their attackers to a standstill with sticks, needles, pots, boiling oil, and kitchen knives. We finished off nearly all of those samurai. I'm afraid we let our emotions get the better of us. They had killed some of the women and wounded many more. The remaining samurai retreated beyond the wall. Stupidly, they tried to besiege us, perhaps thinking that they could eventually starve us off the mountain-top. We gave them a few days to relax their guard, then went down the mountain through the tunnels and came up behind them. This time we gave a better account of ourselves, even though we had to fight uphill. We lost fewer and they lost more. When they started to run for it, we opened ranks and let them go."
"Were they Muratomo or Takashi?"
"Takashi. Now that the Muratomo clan is defeated and scattered, Sogamori intends to stamp out any other force in the land that does not submit to him utterly."
"But we work impartially with Takashi and Muratomo alike."
Taitaro shook his head. "That does not satisfy Sogamori. He distrusts us deeply because many of our brothers, such as you, have worked for the Muratomo. Also because our Order has connections with branches in other lands. He questions our loyalty to the Emperor. By which, of course, he means our loyalty to himself. He has eliminated nearly all the Zinja in the Takashi employ. Thus his suspicion that we side with the Muratomo is fulfilled."
"Did he himself order the attack on this temple?"
"No, we believe it was the governor of Fukuoka province, an appointee of Sogamori. The governor would have had no trouble finding samurai eager to go up against us. There are many who hate the Zinja. They fear our fighting skills and our stealth. They despise what they know of our child-rearing practices and the free relations between our men and our women. And they've heard rumours that we hoard vast treasures in our temples."
"So, it's war between us and the Takashi."
"Not at all. Our relations with Sogamori, even with the provincial governor, are officially cordial. This attack was a probe, to see how easy it would be to destroy one of our temples. We hope we convinced them that it would be too costly. But it was costly for us, as well. Many urns were emptied and refilled in the crypt the day after the battle. Many trees on this hillside were cut down for funeral pyres."
"Is that why the monastery has been closed?"
"We could have stayed here, but other Zinja monasteries around the islands have suffered great losses as well, both from raids and in this War of the Dragons. The other abbots and I met at Yamatai and decided to combine several of our communities in temples nearer the more important cities."
"Where is Mother?"
"After the decision to close this temple, the remaining monks and women cleaned up the debris, rebuilt the temple building, and left. Your mother went with them to the Teak Blossom Temple near Hakata."
"Why didn't she stay here with you?"
"I wanted to be alone."
"I don't understand. Why would you want Mother to leave you?"
"You cannot understand until you are as old as I am. Men and women go through stages in their lives. Each stage carries one on to the next, and all lead to the ultimate insight, to final realization of the Self. At one stage it is appropriate to lead the life of a young warrior, as you do. At another stage one marries and lives quietly and cheerfully with a spouse and carries out duties of leadership in the community, as your mother and I have. But then there comes the stage when one must sit alone on the brink of the infinite and contemplate one's impending leap into the dark. One can no more hold back or prevent these changes than a caterpillar can stop itself from becoming a butterfly. Indeed, not only do people pass through stages, but so do communities, nations, orders like the Zinja. As I sit here alone on this mountain it becomes more and more apparent to me that the Zinja are entering some final stage. It may be that the light of the Order is going out. I fear that this Sunrise Land is moving into a time of darkness. I believe that this temple will sooner or later be destroyed. The war will go on, and the marauders will come back."
"I will stay here with you and defend it, Father."
"No. Spend the day with me, and tonight if you will. This evening I wish to show you certain things that will be of value to you. But you are too young, there is too much for you to do, for you to dedicate your life to caring for the ruins of a temple and of a Zinja abbot."
That night Jebu and Taitaro went into the temple and seated themselves on the polished stone floor before the altar, facing each other just as they had after Jebu's initiation ordeal. Taitaro reached into a pocket hidden inside his robe and took out something small and round that sparkled in the candlelight. He leaned forward and held it up so that Jebu could look at it.
"Look deep into this jewel," said Taitaro. "Eix your gaze on it. Concentrate on it. Think only of it and nothing else."
Jebu saw that the surface of the transparent crystal was covered with an intricate maze of fine carved lines, made many times more complex because he could see through the jewel to the pattern on the other side. Taitaro held the sphere in his fingertips, turning it this way and that to display the tracery. In the depths tiny fires, hot red flames and hotter blue flames, twinkled and sparkled.
"As you look at the jewel, you will feel yourself getting drowsy," said Taitaro. "You will feel yourself falling asleep . . . You will sleep . . . You will sleep."
Jebu was no longer in the temple. He seemed to be floating in midair through a dark forest. No dragon or bird bore him up, he was drifting as if swimming through the air. Ahead of him, in the blackness of the pines, there was light. It glowed, cool and white. He drifted towards the light.
He found himself in a clearing, about half-way between the top and the bottom of an enormous tree. Light came from the tree, and a strange, continuous murmuring. As Jebu drifted closer to the tree, he saw that the murmuring came from soft sounds made by thousands of living creatures. The creatures seemed to grow, like fruit, out of the tree's branches.
On the lower branches were the smaller animals, the worms, the insects, the fish, the lizards and snakes. In the middle branches, nearest Jebu, were birds, horses, monkeys, cats, dogs and the like. A magnificent striped tiger with glowing green eyes looked at him solemnly, the sort of beast he had seen once or twice in a painting. There were many animals that he did not recognize, many that amazed him. There was one huge creature with flapping ears, a nose as long as a rope that moved with a life of its own, and two white pointed teeth, each as long as a man, that protruded like spears from its mouth. There was a fish that was even larger, as big as a castle, with a mouth big enough for a man to stand upright inside it, yet somehow it seemed comfortably nestled in the branches of this tree. Eloating upwards, Jebu saw in the topmost branches men and women of all kinds, some a normal colour, others as black as ebony or as white as snow, some richly dressed, others naked. And above these were beings who glowed as if they were arrayed in jewels, a glow so intense that it hurt Jebu's eyes to look at them and he could not clearly see their shapes. These must be the kami, he thought.
It came to him with great surprise, awe and joy that all life is one, that living things are not separate from one another but-just as all leaves are part of a tree-all animals, men and gods were one mighty living thing, the Self, manifested in many forms. He laughed aloud at the wonder and simplicity of it, and even as he did so the light from the tree began to dim and he began to move away from it, till he could no longer see the individual creatures in the tree, but only the tree itself, a glowing mountain of light. Then he drifted further away, back into the forest, and the light was only a tiny spark, far in the distance.
The spark became the spherical jewel Taitaro held up before him. "You are awake now," Taitaro said. "Look at the jewel again."
The pattern of lines with its rising and falling movement somehow suggested the shape of the tree he had seen in his vision.
"This is called the Jewel of Life and Death," Taitaro said. "It is a shintai, the dwelling place of a kami. And now, Jebu, it is yours. Take it." His eyes glowing with a fire almost as bright as that in the jewel, Taitaro held the crystal out to Jebu, who took it in the palm of his hand.
"This is one of the jewels your father brought with him from far away," said Taitaro. "I do not know where he got it. He never had time to tell me. He gave it to me the night he was killed."
Jebu's eye would follow a particular line for a few of its twists and turns, then lose it again in a network of other lines.
Taitaro said, "The pattern carved on the Jewel is called the Tree of Life. It has a special influence on the inner life. When Jamuga, your father, brought it to me, he told me that while contemplating this Jewel he suddenly saw that he had to rebel and that he would have to flee from his homeland. As for me, after your father's death I looked at the pattern on this Jewel daily. When I took you and your mother in I was still a man with many illusions. I mourned your father, but I secretly rejoiced that his death had brought me a lovely woman for my wife and a fine son. I wanted to be first among all the Zinja abbots in the land. Over the years, as I kept looking steadily into this Jewel, day after day, my illusions faded. And when the time came, as it did after you left, I was able to decide that I no longer wanted to be a Zinja abbot but could happily spend my days living as a hermit and caring for this temple. In a few years, perhaps I can even cease congratulating myself for making such a wise choice." His deep-set brown eyes twinkled, and Jebu laughed.
Jebu said, "My father came from a land of barbarian cattle herders. Such people could not have carved this Jewel."
"Oh, certainly not. Undoubtedly your father or one of his comrades looted it from its original owners. But it changed him. It changed me, and it will change you, as well, if you let it. I do not know who made the Jewel, or how. I think it must be the work of great sorcerers, such as lived on the earth in the distant past. I know that if you will spend a little time each day focusing your awareness on this Jewel, concentrating on its design, trying to absorb it into your mind, each day you will become a little more aware of your true Self. You will discover that, as we have always taught you, you are a man of insight, perfect just as you are."
Tears flooded Jebu's eyes, blurring the fires of the Jewel. This was a gift that had come from both his natural father and his spiritual father. He held the Jewel in trembling hands and stared into its shifting, multi-coloured depths as if, with the sheer pressure of his gaze, he could penetrate to the answers to all the questions that had plagued him ever since he was a boy. He was half-native of this Sunrise Land, but what was the other half? Who was his father? Who was the man who had killed his father? Who am I?
The vision of the Tree of Life Taitaro had shown him had already moved Jebu profoundly. Now he was shaken to the very core as he held the Jewel in his hands, turning it slowly and, in his mind's eye, superimposing on its design a memory of the Tree of Life. He would never let go of this Jewel, he resolved, unless to pass it to another as Taitaro had given it to him. Perhaps to a son of his own. And every day he would spend some time contemplating it.
A faraway look came into Taitaro's shadowed eyes. He turned away from the altar and looked through the temple entrance into the darkness outside. He hurried around the temple, blowing out candles until they were almost in darkness. One small candle remained in his hand.
"A group of mounted men just passed through the gateway. Hide yourself. I will meet them."
Taitaro pressed down on a small block of stone in the floor, tipping it upwards to expose an iron ring. Pulling on the ring, he raised a slab covering a chamber under the floor.
"Down there you'll be able to hear everything. There is an entrance to a tunnel leading from that chamber to what used to be the monks' quarters. Slip down the mountain and go to the Teak Blossom Temple at Hakata, where your mother and your old friends are."
"I don't want to hide. I will not abandon you."
Taitaro laughed. "Jebu, I have been a Zinja abbot for twenty-three years. Do you really think I'd have any trouble escaping from a party of samurai? No one can hurt me unless I permit it. Now, get down there."
It was so dark that Jebu could not see the floor of the chamber below. He jumped into the blackness and fell further than he had expected to, his feet striking stone with an impact that stunned him. Taitaro closed the slab over him, and Jebu was in darkness. It was so like. the night of his initiation that it brought back all the memories of that ordeal. He felt his way to a corner of the room, sat down and waited in total darkness.
Carrying his candle, Taitaro slowly crossed the temple to the entrance. He questioned himself, wondering why he had bothered to hide Jebu. The two of them could easily defeat or escape from a group of samurai.
It was because he was tired of bloodshed. He wanted to see if he could deal with these samurai quietly and send them away in peace. If Jebu were with him, there would inevitably be fighting.
The mounted warriors galloped up to the temple steps and stopped. Taitaro held up his candle to get a better look at the horsemen. They had Red Dragons embroidered on the breasts of their surcoats.
A deep voice addressed Taitaro. "Old monk, I remember you. You are the Abbot Taitaro." The voice spoke in Chinese.
With the aid of the candle Taitaro peered at the man who had spoken. Taitaro recognized him instantly, with a shiver of mingled anticipation and dread.
The huge man wore a fur-trimmed iron helmet topped by a single spike that came to a needle-sharp point. The collar of his red cloak was edged with silver-grey fur. His silk surcoat was a bright scarlet. His eyes were ice blue. His reddish-brown moustache hung in long strands on either side of his mouth. His cheekbones were broad and prominent, his face deeply lined and scarred, his skin tanned to brown leather by sun and wind and sand. He was wide through every part of his body-shoulders, chest, arms, legs.
"I know you, as well," said Taitaro, answering in Chinese. "But I do not know your name."
"I am Arghun Baghadur." The big man jumped from his horse, handing the rein to a samurai beside him, and climbed the steps of the temple with the rolling gait of one who has spent a lifetime in the saddle.
Taitaro said, "As you see, this temple is undefended. You and your men are welcome to enter and rest yourselves."
Following Taitaro into the temple, Arghun said, "We need not waste time, Abbot Taitaro. I seek the monk called Jebu. I have followed his trail all over Honshu and Kyushu. I know he came here." Arghun spoke Chinese heavily, gutturally.
Taitaro was delighted. This was a splendid stroke of good fortune for Jebu. With a little skilful prodding it might be possible to get this barbarian to tell the full story of Jebu's father, for Jebu's benefit.
Taitaro pointed to the Red Dragon on Arghun's surcoat. "Do you seek him on behalf of the Takashi, or for some other reason?"
"While in this Land of the Dwarfs it suits my convenience to ally myself with the Takashi clan. But I pursue my own ends. I have come here, as you must know, to slay the monk Jebu. Where is he?"
Taitaro sighed and seated himself, gesturing that Arghun should do the same. He positioned himself at one side of the slab under which Jebu was hiding.
"I felt chilled and sent Jebu out into the forest to cut firewood for me."
Arghun strode to the temple entrance. He wore felt riding boots and his tread was soft, despite his size.
He called out to his men. "Search the woods around here for a tall, red-haired monk. Bring him to me unharmed."
Taitaro said, "Let the will of heaven be done. I can do no more to protect Jebu. But I do not understand. This young man was a baby when you came here last. He had done nothing to you then. He has done no harm to you now. Why do you want to kill him?"
"It is a sacred obligation I have undertaken, and I may not rest until I fulfil it. Surely, as a warrior monk you can understand that. Genghis Khan is dead now, but his command binds me: Let Jamuga and all his seed be slain, let his blood vanish from the earth."
"Ah, yes," said Taitaro. "Jamuga told me of his people. Herdsmen living in the cold, dry plains north of China."
Arghun laughed. "We Mongols are no longer tent-dwelling cattle herders, old man. We are conquerors, and we live in palaces."
"It is a cruel thing to put a man to death for his father's offence."
"At the will of Genghis Khan whole cities have been wiped out. Every man, woman and child has been killed, every building levelled. Now riders can pass over the spot and herdsmen graze their cattle without ever knowing there was a city there. It was a small matter for Genghis Khan to decree the destruction of one family. When the Great Khan is offended, expiation must be made throughout heaven and earth."
Standing below in the darkness, Jebu felt himself trembling. It had taken him a few minutes to recall the spoken Chinese he had learned in the temple years ago. But he understood enough. This was the slayer of his father. Now this warrior hid come across the sea again, hunting him. It was dream-like, in a way. It was hard to believe they were actually talking about him.
There were still unanswered questions. Who, exactly, was Jamuga? Who was Genghis Khan? What had Jamuga done to call down upon 'himself such relentless vindictiveness? But Jebu felt he had heard enough. It was time to act, while Arghun was still talking to Taitaro, before the Mongol became restless.
Mongol. Whatever a Mongol is, I'm partly one, too.
When he burst up through the temple floor, Arghun would be taken by surprise. That, plus his Zinja training, should be enough to enable him to kill the man who had killed his father. In the darkness he reached up to move the stone slab.
He found he could not touch the ceiling. He paced the room from wall to wall, reaching above his head as high as he could. His fingertips touched empty air. He felt the walls for a handhold. Except for the low opening to the tunnel Taitaro had told him about, the walls were smooth. He was caught like a cricket in a jar. There was no way to climb out.
Jebu clenched his fists and growled to himself. Taitaro had known about this. The old devil had planned it this way, to protect him.
Promising himself he would have a word with Taitaro, Jebu crouched and crept through the low tunnel. In total darkness, he had to feel his way. The tunnel was lined with stones which formed a vaulted roof to prevent collapse. It must have taken many months to build it that well, even though it was only about fifty feet long. But the tunnels under the temple were bored through the solid rock of the mountain. How long had they taken? The Zinja were patient.
Now the tunnel began to slant upwards. Jebu's fingers touched rough stone. He pushed gently. The stone moved easily. A crack of light appeared, and he cautiously raised the stone a little more.
He heard the crackling and crashing of Arghun's samurai stumbling around the brush-grown temple grounds searching for him. He raised the stone enough to be able to see his immediate vicinity. There was no one near by. He pushed himself out of the tunnel, creeping flat along the ground, and dropped the stone back into place.
Through weeds and shrubbery, Jebu snaked towards the temple. He darted up the steps. Cautiously, he peered into the temple entrance. He could see two dark, seated figures, one small, the other a bulk like a mountain, facing each other near the altar, a candle on the floor between them. From this distance he could not see Arghun's face well. But the Mongol had his profile to Jebu and might detect a movement out of the corner of his eye if Jebu rushed him.
Thinking of shadows, Jebu edged around the entrance-way and crept along the back wall of the temple to the rear corner. He drew the collar of his hood up over his nose and mouth to muffle the sound of his breathing. At last he was behind Arghun.
Your armour is your mind. A naked man can utterly destroy a man clad in steel. Rely on nothing but the Self.
Slowly, silently, he worked his way along the side wall of the temple. Taitaro would probably see him, but the abbot would give no sign. Jebu drew his Zinja sword. A further soundless progress towards the altar, and he was facing Arghun's broad back.
Rely on nothing under heaven. You will not do the fighting. The Self will do the fighting.
The ritual sentences of preparation for combat were swept aside by an overwhelming urge to kill the man who had killed Jamuga. Jebu poised the Zinja sword, aiming the point at Arghun's red-cloaked back. Then he sprang away from the wall, launching himself at Arghun.
Just before Jebu reached Arghun, the Mongol rolled to one side. Surprised, Jebu dived past him. Suddenly he was driving the point of his sword at Taitaro's heart.
"No! Father!" Jebu screamed. He heard Arghun laugh in the shadows.
Jebu's Zinja-trained reflexes came to his aid and he swung the sword wide. Taitaro also moved quickly, springing to his feet. But they could not help falling into each other.
"Idiot! He saw you reflected in my eyes," Taitaro snapped as the two of them went down together, disentangled themselves and quickly stood. Jebu was furious at himself. He had been taught about eye reflections and had forgotten.
Jebu saw that when Arghun evaded the sword thrust he had also seized the candle. It was on the altar now, and the Mongol was standing beside it. His sword, long and curved though not as long as a samurai sword, gleamed in his hand.
Arghun and Jebu stood looking at each other. Jebu could read nothing in the narrowed blue eyes. They were fierce and empty as the eyes of a falcon. The Mongol's hair was hidden under his helmet, but the red moustache was a surprise. It was the same colour as his own hair. Why, he looks like me, Jebu realized.
Arghun grunted. "I knew if I kept the old man talking, you'd come sneaking around. You are Jamuga's son, no doubt of that. You are as big as he was. But I think you will be easier to kill than he was. You're just a child."
Jebu was stung by the contempt in Arghun's voice. "A very-welltrained child, Arghun. Who intends to kill you this night."
Arghun shrugged. "There is training, and then there is experience."
Without warning, Arghun leaped at him, bringing his sabre down in a stroke that would have cut Jebu in two had he not leaped backwards. Arghun kept charging him, thrusting and slashing.
Jebu ducked around the hanging hollow log that served as a temple gong, keeping it between himself and Arghun, slowing down Arghun's rush. Jebu took a crouching attack position, his short sword held before him, waist-high. He was swept by a wave of exhilaration. This man had taken his father from him. Now he would pay with his life.
Jebu darted around the log, slashing at Arghun. He expected the big man to duck back, but Arghun stood firm, parrying Jebu's sword with a clang. They were almost chest-to-chest, and Jebu thought how unusual to be fighting someone as big as himself.
Arghun put his boot behind Jebu's bare heel and tripped him. Jebu saved himself by turning his fall into a somersault, rolling away from Arghun's thrust. Part of Jebu's anger turned against himself. He was fighting poorly tonight. He was making mistakes, letting himself be taken in by obvious tricks. He told himself that he must get the better of the Mongol. Otherwise he would be failing himself, his father and the Order. Not only his life but the meaning of his life depended upon it.
Jumping to his feet, Jebu wondered when the rest of Arghun's men would join in. Surely they could hear the ringing of sword on sword. Why didn't Arghun call them? Probably because he wanted to kill Jebu himself. What was Taitaro doing? Jebu dared not take his eyes from Arghun for an instant.
The Mongol was moving in on him again. Unlike the Zinja, who frequently fell back or feigned retreat in order to draw their opponents off-balance, Arghun stayed constantly on the attack, his blade slamming again and again into Jebu's. Jebu knew Arghun was trying to wear him down, overwhelm him with his strength. To break the momentum of Arghun's attack, Jebu crouched and swung his short sword at the Mongol warrior's legs.
Arghun leaped into the air, bringing his sabre down on Jebu's blade with all his strength. Jebu lost his grip under the force of Arghun's blow. The Zinja sword went spinning across the room. Still crouched, reaching for the lost blade, Jebu saw Arghun poised over him, his sword upraised for the death blow.
Rolling himself into a ball, Jebu hit Arghun's legs. The Mongol started to topple, then caught himself with a dancer's grace and whirled to strike at Jebu again. Jebu felt the impact of the sword's point and edge biting into the flesh of his upper arm.
Then the candle went out.
Arghun's blade, seeking him again, rang on the temple's stone floor. Jebu realized instantly why Taitaro had been standing near the candle. He had given Jebu his chance, and had blown the candle out when he thought Arghun was going to kill him.
Now Arghun was roaring for his men. "Get in here and bring light! The monk I'm after is here!"
Jebu remembered where his Zinja sword had struck the far wall. He ran for it and snatched it up, then turned to look for Arghun.
"Jebu, you fool! Here!" Jebu felt Taitaro's powerful fingers on his arm. Taitaro propelled him around to the back of the altar. Jebu heard stone grind against stone. Then Taitaro was pulling him again, and he squeezed through the opening and heard the stone door slide shut behind him.
Taitaro lit a candle and beckoned Jebu. Soon they were in the tunnels in the mountain, far below the temple. Taitaro turned on him angrily.
"I told you precisely what to do, but you wouldn't listen. If you had, you'd be safely on your way to Hakata. Now you're wounded, and you've still got to walk to Hakata. Let me see that arm. You're bleeding heavily." He helped Jebu clean and bind the wound.
"You'll have a scar there. I hope you're proud of it."
"Sensei, you're angry because I put myself in danger. But what else could I do? The man who killed my father, sitting there talking about killing me- He has been hunting me, sensei. And you were in danger, too. I had to attack him."
"I don't want you to be killed by that man."
"I won't be. I will kill him some day."
"Jebu, he killed you tonight, on the plane of combat skill. You did not fight as a Zinja should fight. You were angry and vengeful, and therefore you were conscious and controlling at every moment. You did not let the Self fight. You hungered for revenge on Arghun as an ordinary man hungers for a beautiful woman. Think back on it."
Jebu remembered. He had entered the temple composing himself for battle in the usual way, but somehow when he had launched himself at Arghun he had forgotten all that. More than anything in the world he had wanted to kill the Mongol giant. Throughout the fight he had incessantly been telling himself what to do. And he had always been wrong. Remembering, he was crestfallen. Truly he had fallen far short of the Zinja ideal. Perhaps it was his Mongol blood.
"You are right. I am humiliated."
"Humiliation is our best teacher," said Taitaro. "It is as kind to us as an old grandmother. I wanted you to know this man. An empty space in your life was filled up tonight. But now you should forget the tale of your father and Arghun as you would forget yesterday's meal. It does not matter how you came to be born or where you came from or what men did injuries to your father. Until you can go against Arghun stripped bare in mind, he will always be able to get the better of you."
Shame was a leaden weight in Jebu's chest. "I am afraid, sensei, that I am a bad student. I hunger for beautiful women, like any ordinary man. I haven't learned not to care about winning and losing. With Arghun, the man who killed my father, the wish to win became my master."
"You are young, Jebu. The Zinja teachings aim at perfection, but you are not expected to be perfect. We hope you will learn to apply the teachings often enough at this stage of your life that you can live long enough to apply them still more."
The weight in Jebu's chest felt lighter. He smiled gratefully, looking into Taitaro's weary, kindly eyes.
"I will try to care less."
"Consult the shintai, the Jewel of Life and Death, every day. It will help you to see things more clearly."
Together, in silence, they made their way downwards through the tunnel system. At last they were on the beach under the half-moon and the stars. Another light caught Jebu's eye and he looked up in horror. The Waterfowl Temple was burning.
The temple had always reminded Jebu of a bird. Now the tongues of flame were like feathers and wings, and the temple was, not a waterfowl, but a great bird of fire poised for flight.
Rage followed shock. "I wish I could run back up the mountain and kill them all."
"They are stupid men, and burning the temple is a futile act." said Taitaro. "It doesn't matter. We set no great store by temples. They're just so much firewood in the end."
They embraced, and Jebu turned his back on Taitaro and on the blazing Waterfowl Temple and started walking down the beach towards Hakata.
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
One hears very little from the capital these days. Once in a while Akimi manages to slip me a letter or a present by way of a trusted servant. I can only guess how it makes her feel to be Sogamori's mistress. Poor Akimi-san. Her son Yukio is now a novice monk at the Buddhist temple on Mount Hiei.
Sogamori has had himself appointed chancellor. This is an ancient office, long left vacant, and is considered higher than the office of Regent. Fujiwara no Motofusa, who is now Regent, must be grinding his blackened teeth down to stumps. With the office of chancellor and with tens of thousands of Takashi samurai ready to spring to do his bidding, Sogamori is the real ruler of the Sunrise Land.
According to Akimi, Sogamori was recently heard to say, "Anyone who is not a Takashi is not a human being." That remark has been repeated all over the capital. People follow the Takashi fashion in everything from the way men wear their ceremonial hats to the style of the family crest on one's clothing. Anyone who wants to be in fashion must study and copy the way things are done in the Rokuhara.
A strange and frightening thing happened yesterday. A troop of Takashi samurai visited Daidoji. Their leader was a giant barbarian who spoke our language very poorly, with a thick accent. He questioned all the guards who fought with Jebu, then came to see me.
Arghun Baghadur, he said his name was. What sort of an outlandish name is that? He would tell me nothing of himself, save that he does the bidding of Sogamori and had old Squint-Eyes' permission to question me. He asked me many questions about Jebu, to most of which I answered that I did not know. Having been told by Horigawa that I speak Chinese, he conversed with me in that language, which he spoke passably well.
I made one stupid mistake. After he had asked me many questions I declared that I had no interest in Zinja monks, especially those of barbarian descent. He pounced at once.
"Then you know of his descent. He must have told you about himself."
I had only intended to make an insulting reference to this Arghun Baghadur's own barbarian background. Led on by my wish to hurt, I forgot myself and made a serious error. It was as Jebu once told me: the warrior who acts out of anger or hatred is simply seeking his own defeat.
I answered that I had guessed Jebu's barbarian ancestry from his appearance. Suddenly I realized that Jebu had told me his father was killed by a giant barbarian with red hair and blue eyes, and that the barbarian wished to kill Jebu. Instantly I felt sure this was the very man. If only there were some way I could warn Jebu.
The barbarian pressed me with questions for an hour more. I pray I told him nothing else that might help him. After he left, I fainted. Compassionate Buddha, help Jebu.
-First Month, eighth day
YEAR OF THE SHEEP
Arghun Baghadur's visit brought her last meeting with Jebu vividly back to her. Finally she forced herself to accept a fact she had only suspected in the months since she had seen Jebu. She was pregnant.
Compassionate Buddha, she whispered to herself, help me.
She waited another month to be sure, before telling Horigawa the news on one of his infrequent visits to Daidoji. She asked his permission to go to Kamakura for the lying-in. Any place was better, she thought, than this god-forsaken country rathole. And once she got away from Horigawa, she might be able to find excuses to avoid returning to him.
"Out of the question," said Horigawa.
"But a woman of good family returns to her home to give birth."
Horigawa smiled and tapped his fingertips together. "Not, I think, when the home is as far away as Kamakura. It would be entirely too dangerous to your health. What would your honoured father think of me, if I let you journey so far? He who takes such good care of every passing traveller, such as the Muratomo boy."
Taniko's heart sank. "Then send me to my uncle's house in the capital."
"Oh, no. Never again will you go to the capital. You disgraced me there once. It will not happen again."
"I did not disgrace you."
"There are many there who know that you were the go-between for Akimi and Sogamori. Now Akimi acts the great lady as Sogamori's mistress. People know that you thwarted my efforts to have the Muratomo brats eliminated. Among those people I am a laughing stock because of you. Now, when you arrive in the capital with your belly swollen, there will be rumours that the child is not mine. I will not be laughed at because of you."
"Why should anyone think the child is not yours?"
"None of my wives has ever had a child. And the story of the armed monk who came here and killed my guards has made its way to the capital."
"That has no bearing on whether you are the father of my child."
"You will stay here. You will bear the child here at Daidoji." He smiled at her. "It is really best for you. Pregnant women should not travel. The custom of a woman going home for the lying-in was followed when all the best people lived right in the capital. Besides, there are excellent midwives here in the village. You will be very comfortable."
"You are holding me prisoner."
"Only for your own good." He stood up and left her.
Taniko felt more alone than she had at any time in her life. She read The Tale of Genji: a beautiful illustrated copy which Akimi had sent her. She liked it better than The Tale of the Hollow Tree. As her stomach started to bulge, she carried herself straighter and tried to hold it in.
"That is good," said the midwife from the village of rice farmers who worked the paddies around Daidoji and paid sixty per cent of their harvest to Horigawa. "Girls who have husbands and are proud of their babies always let their bellies stick out. They have a bad time when they give birth. Girls whose babies have no fathers are ashamed. They try to hide their bellies, suck them in. And always, they have an easy delivery, because all that holding in makes them strong through here." She laughed and stroked her hands over her pelvis. "Keep holding your belly in, my lady. But why are you ashamed of this baby? You have a noble prince for a husband."
Having no one else to confide in and liking the midwife's smiling, moon-like face, Taniko said, "I do not know whether this baby has a noble prince for a father."
Taniko considered the notion of going to the Shima house in Heian Kyo without the prince's permission, but it seemed impossible. From the way his dozens of samurai watched her, she was sure they had orders to keep her on the estate. And even if she were able to slip away, it was unsafe to travel on foot or on horseback. How could she get a carriage and driver? And how could a carriage escape the mounted samurai who would inevitably come after her? No, she decided, she would only distress herself by trying to run away.
The midwife came to examine her once a month. She told Taniko the baby would probably be born in the Seventh Month. Taniko noticed that when not talking to anyone the midwife would constantly mutter under her breath, the same words over and over again. At first Taniko thought the woman was mad. It would not surprise her at all if Horigawa had provided her with a demented midwife. But the woman was pleasant and made so much sense most of the time that Taniko dismissed that explanation.
"What is it you keep saying to yourself?" she finally asked.
"Homage to Amida Buddha."
"Ah, a prayer."
"It is more than a prayer. If you repeat it with sincerity, you are saved for all time. When you die your spirit will be reborn in the Pure Land far to the west, where it is possible for even the weakest of us to attain enlightenment and achieve Nirvana."
"Is that why you say it over and over again?"
"Yes. Also because it is such a great comfort. When I invoke the name of Amida Buddha over and over again, it feels as if I am carrying Buddha within me, just as you are carrying that baby inside you. Try it some time, my lady. When you are feeling sad or in pain, just say, `Homage to Amida Buddha' over and over to yourself until you feel better."
One particularly beautiful day in the Seventh Month, as she sat reading under a parasol, Taniko found herself thinking back to her ride with Jebu down the Tokaido Road to Heian Kyo. When she realized that those were very nearly the last happy days of her life, a great sadness swept over her. Eeeling foolish she said, "Homage to Amida Buddha." She repeated it. After she had said it about twenty times the sharp edge of the sadness seemed blunted. It was as if she had drunk sake, but with none of its after effects.
The next time she tried the invocation was when she began to feel labour pains. She sent a servant to the village for the midwife, then went to the chamber that had been prepared as a lying-in room and lay on her futon, saying, "Homage to Amida Buddha."
The midwife came, and they recited the prayer together. Taniko was in labour all the rest of that day, all the night and most of the following day. Holding in her belly did not seem to have helped.
Taniko awoke to see Horigawa leaning over her. His sour breath made her feel sick, and she turned 'her head aside. He grasped her under the chin and forced her to look at him.
"Taniko, your baby has been born."
"Yes."
"It is alive. It is a daughter."
"Good."
"Taniko, it has red hair and grey eyes."
Taniko felt her heart turn to ice. Eeebly, she said, "Many babies are born that way-"
"No, Taniko." Horigawa bared his teeth in what almost seemed a smile. "It is his. The monk's." He turned abruptly.
Taniko, her whole pain-racked body trembling, raised herself up on her elbows. "What are you going to do?"
Horigawa snatched the infant from the midwife's arms, held the little, red naked body up as the baby squirmed and squalled. "Look, Taniko. Behold the living proof of your faithlessness." The baby's eyes were shut and the hair looked light brown to Taniko. She reached for her daughter. Horigawa laughed at her helplessness and ran from the lying-in room. Swaying, staggering, knocking over the one feeble oil lamp that lit the room, Taniko forced herself to get to her feet and follow him.
"What are you going to do? What are you going to do?" She ran after him through the rooms of the women's quarters.
On the veranda the midwife caught up with her. "My lady! You'll hurt yourself. You must lie down." She held Taniko.
"Help me! He's going to kill my baby!" Taniko fought free of the midwife. With a rapid stride Horigawa was crossing the front yard of the manor to the gate, the naked baby clutched to his chest. Samurai came out of the guard house to stare at him.
Heedless of the way her single robe flapped open, revealing her nakedness, Taniko ran after Horigawa and seized his arm. Horigawa whirled and knocked her to the ground with a backhanded slap. The midwife came and knelt by the gasping Taniko. She started to help Taniko rise, and Taniko gripped her hand.
"I'm too weak. I can't stop him, Help me." The midwife stared fearfully at Taniko, then scrambled to her feet and caught up with Horigawa. Blocking the prince's way, she fell to her knees.
"Please, my lord, give me the baby." She held out her arms.
Holding the baby with one arm, Horigawa drew his dagger and lunged at her.
"Homage to Amida-" she screamed, but the invocation ended in a horrid choking sound. Horigawa stepped daintily around her, wiping his dagger on his sulphur-coloured robe before sheathing it. Blood splashing her kimono like the petals of a giant scarlet peony, the midwife toppled forward and fell face-down in the dust. Taniko's scream was as much for the woman who had helped her as for the baby.
Again she dragged herself to her feet and ran after Horigawa. He stopped and called his samurai.
"Hold her till I return."
Tentatively at first, then more firmly as he saw that the prince was watching him, the guardsman nearest Taniko gripped her arm. With a nod, Horigawa turned and walked out the front gate as the two gate guards saluted with their naginatas. The guards stared after the little man holding the crying infant in his arms. A strange stillness fell over the manor.
Another samurai removed his obi and tied it around Taniko's waist. "You should go inside and lie down, my lady. A woman in your condition should not be up and about."
Suddenly, through her tears, Taniko was filled with rage. "What kind of samurai are you? You're nothing but worms! You tell me to lie down when my baby has been ripped from my arms? You let him take my baby. You let him kill a defenceless woman. You are the ones who should lie down. You're not men. No real men would stand by and let these things happen."
"The prince is our lord, my lady," said the man who had given her the sash. "We are sworn to obey him in all things."
"You call yourselves samurai. Where is the courage and the kindliness samurai are supposed to have? You are only samurai on the outside. You have the hearts of maids. I have the only samurai heart here." She glared at the men standing in a half-circle around her. They looked at the ground. She turned to the man holding her. "Let go of me."
Still he held her. The samurai who spoke to her said, "Let go of her. Let her do as she wishes. This thing will bring bad karma on all who are part of it." Taniko felt the man's hand fall away. She raced for the gate. The guards with naginatas stepped aside.
What she saw made her scream in anguish. Horigawa was half-way up the stone steps that led up to the mill on the hilltop. Like a huge spider, he climbed rapidly.
Taniko ran to the mill and started to climb. Horigawa was far above her.
"Don't! I beg you, don't," she screamed at him. "I'll do anything you want. I'll be whatever you want me to be. Take the baby away from me. Sell her if you want. I'll be obedient to you. Don't hurt her!"
The sound of the waterfall and the creaking of the mill wheel drowned out her voice. She struggled on up the stone steps, feeling weaker each time she raised a foot. She felt blood running down the insides of her legs. Clawing at the steps, using her hands to drag herself upwards, she climbed on.
She was screaming, but she did not know what she was screaming. She could not think. She could not hear herself above the roar of water tumbling over black rocks. She could no longer see Horigawa. She was almost at the top of the hill.
Horigawa was standing upstream. As she caught sight of him, he lifted her daughter up over his head with both arms and hurled the screaming baby into the middle of the stream.
The baby howled in terror as she struck the black water. That was the last sound Taniko ever heard from her child. She plunged into the water. Vainly she reached out as the little body swept past her and over the edge of the fall. She felt the current pulling her. She let herself fall forward into the cold water, wanting to be carried to her death with her daughter.
Just as she neared the edge she felt strong hands seize her and pull her out of the water, powerful arms carry her over to the bank of the stream. It was the samurai who had tried to help her. Without looking at Horigawa, who stood panting by the edge of the rushing stream, he carried Taniko slowly down the steep flight of stone steps.
At the bottom, Taniko raised her head weakly. She saw peasants standing around a morsel of dead flesh lying on the grass beside the mill pond. They stared at her, horror-struck. Then all of them knelt, and one covered the little body with a blanket. Taniko was silent. She closed her eyes. She could not comprehend what she had seen.
A man emerged from the gateway of the manor carrying the body of a woman in his arms. Some of the peasants went over to him and formed a small procession to follow the woman's body to the village at the base of the hills.
A puff of smoke rose from the women's quarters of the manor. Taniko suddenly remembered knocking over the oil lamp in her room. Soon the smoke became a thick, black cloud reaching to heaven. Crackling red flames leaped up after it.
Some of the servants tried to throw water on the fire, but it was useless. A strong breeze was blowing, and the flames quickly spread from the one building to all the others. Broken beams blackened in the fire, and torn paper walls turned to ashes and flew skyward like so many crows.
Within minutes the entire manor had burned to the ground.
The samurai standing with Taniko said, "It is a sign. The kami are angry at the prince for what he has done. They have destroyed his house."
Some peasants overheard him and made the gesture of warding off demons.
"Homage to Amida Buddha," Taniko said.
Immediately, those near her echoed it: "Homage to Amida Buddha."
A peasant woman touched Taniko on the arm. "Your home is gone, my lady. You are ill. If you will be so kind, come to my miserable cottage and we will care for you."
Taniko said, "Homage to Amida Buddha." The samurai and the peasant woman led her away.
His estate levelled, Prince Horigawa had no choice but to return Taniko to Heian Kyo. She was desperately ill, and he told her he hoped the carriage journey back to the capital would kill her. But she survived, and by the beginning of the new year her body had recovered. Her mind did not recover as quickly. He tried for a time to keep her in his palace, but her presence in his home unnerved him, and her bewildered manner and constant muttering of the invocation to Buddha disturbed the servants.
Finally, Horigawa took her in his state carriage to the house of Taniko's uncle Shima Ryuichi. He decided that shame would keep her from telling anyone what he had done to the baby, and that no one could blame him for casting off a wife who had become so obviously useless.
In the slow ride through the streets of the capital she crouched on the straw mat across the carriage from him, staring at him and whispering to herself, while he directed his gaze out through the blinds, so as to avoid looking at her.
"Unfortunately, her baby was born dead," he told Ryuichi. "She is upset. Possibly she has succumbed to the influence of an evil spirit. I think it best she remain with her family for a while." He left abruptly, while Ryuichi looked in helpless horror at the dishevelled, murmuring Taniko.
Sometimes Taniko found herself trying to imagine what her daughter would have been like. She had red hair and grey eyes. Would she have been strange looking? Would everyone have thought her ugly? Would she have been unable to get a husband? It would not have mattered. Taniko would have loved her daughter. She would have called her Shikibu, after the author of The Tale of Genji, the book she had enjoyed while she was with child.
Gradually, Taniko once again became an accepted member of the house of Shima Ryuichi. She remained something of a recluse and spent her days reading, embroidering and incessantly reciting the invocation to Buddha. It appeared a foregone conclusion that she would not return to her husband.
Word of what had actually happened at Daidoji filtered back to Heian Kyo through the gossip of servants and samurai. Shima Ryuichi heard the story and accepted it because it was hard to believe a strong girl like Taniko could be reduced to this state by a stillbirth, a misfortune that happened to many women. He considered writing to Lord Bokuden about Horigawa's behaviour but decided not to. Against so powerful a man as Prince Horigawa there was nothing to be done, and Bokuden might take it into his head to hold Ryuichi somehow to blame for whatever had gone wrong.
One day in the Fifth Month of the Year of the Ape Taniko was reading when a maidservant burst into her room. "You must prepare yourself, my lady. A great man has come to call upon you."
Puzzled, Taniko slowly laid down her book. "What great man has come?" A picture of Jebu rose in her mind.
"Lord Takashi no Kiyosi, Minister of the Interior and General of the Left, is waiting in the great hall."
Kiyosi. The image of a brown, handsome face with a small moustache replaced that of Jebu. Suddenly, she was frightened.
"I cannot possibly receive him. He cannot see me like this, and I don't have time to prepare myself."
"Be calm, my lady," said the maid. "No gentleman expects a lady to receive him at once, especially if she has had no advance warning that he is coming. You have time to prepare yourself. Your esteemed uncle told me to tell you that he would consider it a great favour if you would greet Lord Kiyosi courteously."
"Of course."
In less than an hour Taniko had changed all her robes and dresses, found her favourite hair ornament, a mother-of-pearl butterfly, and chosen a screen painted with green shoots of young rice just emerging from pools of water, an appropriate selection for the season. In her chest of personal ornaments she found the fan with the painting of the Takashi family shrine, which Lady Akimi had long since returned to her.
She was seated comfortably, the screen was placed before her, and she sent her maid for Kiyosi.
Through the top of the screen Taniko was able to see that Kiyosi was wearing what was known at the capital as a hunting costume-a long green cloak with a yellow plum blossom print, full tan trousers and a pointed black cap. Coming from the provinces as she did, Taniko always found the term "hunting costume" laughable. Any man who actually attempted to hunt in such cumbersome clothing would soon find himself eating dust. She had heard that Kiyosi was a splendid sight in his samurai armour. She hoped she might see him that way, some day.
To control her nervousness, Taniko whispered the invocation. "What was that you said?" Kiyosi asked. "Were you speaking to me?
"Nothing, my lord." Then, feeling she was betraying both Amida and the midwife who taught her, she explained. "I was reciting a prayer to the Buddha."
"Ah, yes." The light in the room was dim and it was difficult to see Kiyosi through the screen, but he seemed to be smiling kindly. "I have heard of such prayers. This is the teaching of the Pure Land school, is it not? Invoke Amida and you will be reborn in the Western Paradise?"
"I have studied under no school, my lord," said Taniko. "I learned the prayer from a very kind woman who helped me in an hour when I needed help badly."
"I hope you will forgive my presumption in coming to visit you, Lady Taniko. If I may say so, having met you on several occasions I have most pleasant memories of you. I heard that you were back in the capital at your family's house. I notice that your screen depicts sprouting rice. Perhaps in this month of rice-sprouting a new friendship might begin to grow between us."
"I am most grateful for your thought, my lord. I am overwhelmed by your kindness." It must be pity that had brought him here, she thought. I am old. My baby was killed. I am unattractive. Many people must think me mad.
They talked through the screen for a long time. Taniko found herself again becoming interested in the affairs of Heian Kyo and Kiyosi seemed happy enough to tell her about them. He was modest, almost embarrassed, about the rise to power of the Takashi. Under Taniko's tactful questioning he acknowledged that his father was now virtually unquestioned ruler of the Sacred Islands.
"How fortunate you are to have such a mighty father," said Taniko.
"How fortunate is my father to have such a family," Kiyosi answered. "I do not speak of myself, but of the many ancestors who have paved the way for his rise to greatness-of his father, my grandfather, who wiped out the pirates on the Inland Sea, of his uncles, his brothers, even his cousins, who help him by holding high offices in the land. In a mountain range one peak always stands taller than the others, but it is all the mountains together that help the tallest stand."
"Not least among the peaks is the samurai general who defeated the Muratomo at the battle of the Imperial Palace," said Taniko. "But sometimes a man cannot achieve greatness unless he thinks he stands alone."
Kiyosi slapped his thigh and laughed softly. "How true! I worry about the destiny of my family, and I do not think my accomplishments will ever match those of my father."
He stood up suddenly. "I must leave you now, Lady Taniko. You have been most kind to receive me. I will call on you again, if I may. I-I am married, of course, and I know many women. But the conversation of women does not usually interest me. I find you fascinating to talk to."
"You are always welcome here, Lord Kiyosi."
A few moments after he was gone, Ryuichi hurried into the room. "This is splendid! To be quite frank, my dear, I thought your usefulness to the family had ended when Prince Horigawa cast you off, but Kiyosi is a hundred times more important than the prince. I shall write your father at once. He will be proud of you."
"The Takashi general is not going to marry me, Uncle."
"But he will come back?"
"He said he would."
"That is as much as we could hope for. That is far, far better for you than mooning about the house reading old books and mumbling prayers. You are a young woman. Even if he only makes you his mistress, you can do something for the family."
"Any small contribution I could make would be an honour, of course," said Taniko tartly. "But I think you are selling the rice when it hasn't even been planted."
"That's done all the time," said Ryuichi with mild surprise. "Here in the capital, people barter future crops on land they own to get what they need today. Your father has neglected your education in trade."
"Well, no seeds have been sown in this field yet."
"Only a matter of time," said Ryuichi with an airy wave of his hand. They both laughed.
Taniko realized it was the first time she had laughed since Shikibu's death. It was the first time since then that she had felt fully alive. She whispered her thanks to Amida, the Lord of Boundless Light.
Like the Waterfowl Temple to the north, the Teak Blossom Temple of the Zinja stood at the crown of a hill overlooking the sea, which was here contained within Hakata Bay, a great, circular inlet with the small fishing town of Hakata at its head. Hakata could have been a major port, being an excellent harbour and close to Korea and China. But the wealthy families involved in foreign trade lived mostly at the capital, and it was more convenient for them to conduct their shipping from Hyogo on the Inland Sea.
Many of Jebu's friends from the Waterfowl Temple were now living at the Teak Blossom Temple. Weicho, the short, rotund monk who had so impressed Jebu with his wickedness during his initiation, was the abbot. No longer required to pretend to play at being a bad Zinja, Weicho was now free to be his true self, a genial, simple man with only one vice, an inordinate fondness for eating.
"What's become of Fudo, your partner in wickedness?" Jebu asked him.
A shadow crossed Weicho's face. "He's left the Order."
"Left the Order? I can't imagine anyone leaving the Order."
Weicho shrugged. "Many strange things happen these days. Others have broken with the Order as well. In Fudo's case his duties-the pretence, the cruelty, the occasional need to kill an innocent young novice-became too much for him. He's converted to Buddhism. The last I heard, he was in a monastery in the eastern provinces, sitting on his arse day and night, trying to find happiness by meditating. He's a cripple. He wasn't strong enough to be a Zinja. Forget him." Weicho waved the irritating memory away. Strange, Jebu thought, but Weicho almost reverted to his old role of sharp-tongued cruelty when he talked about Fudo.
Most important of all, Nyosan, Jebu's mother, lived at the Teak Blossom Temple. Jebu had not seen her since his initiation, and whenever the busy routine of the temple permitted, mother and son spent hours in conversation.
Nyosan had charge of Jebu's collection of swords. There were now over sixty. Many of them were the lower-grade sort turned out quickly by the swordsmiths to serve poor samurai in combat. Others were magnificent creations signed by such legendary sword makers as Yasatsuna, Sanjo and Amakuni, heirlooms whose capture by Jebu was a tragedy for the families of the samurai who had carried them. It was four years since Jebu had first vowed to undertake the project.
It was evident to Jebu that Nyosan deeply missed Taitaro. It seemed to him a cruelty that Taitaro should deliberately cut himself off from his wife and choose to live alone, but Nyosan herself never questioned his decision. From hints in her conversation, Jebu gathered that her life was not without its compensations. Indeed, it seemed the older men and women among the Zinja enjoyed their own sort of unions with one another, which were bound by no rules except that of secrecy from the younger members of the Order. So Nyosan apparently did not lack for whatever comfort might be drawn from the joys of the body. She was not alone, though she might be lonely, and she never complained. Still, Jebu resented the way Taitaro had left her. Could he not find whatever insight he sought within his union with Nyosan, rather than off in the woods by himself?
During his stay at the Teak Blossom Temple, Jebu followed the usual routine of a Zinja monk at home base-up at dawn, meditation and exercises before breakfast, practice in the military arts until noon, manual labour in the afternoon, study of Zinja lore in the evening. Each day he spent some time staring into the flickering depths of the Jewel of Life and Death. He found that it really did seem to enhance his peace of mind. The obsession with his father and Arghun, the longing for Taniko, were still there, but he accepted them, as a veteran samurai learns to live with the pain of old wounds.
He entered into a liaison with one of the temple women. It was pleasant and gave him a feeling of greater completeness. Together they studied and practised sexual magic, following ancient books from India and China. It was a fascinating pursuit. But more than once when he and his partner had devoted themselves to the sexual yoga for hours and the moment of supreme bliss should have been a moment of profound insight into the Self, instead he seemed to make contact with Taniko. At such times her face would appear in his mind as clearly as if she had supplanted the partner who sat with him in ecstatic union. Sometimes she spoke to him: "The lilac branch will always be there for the waterfowl." Once Jebu asked his partner if she had spoken. "I don't remember," she answered. It remained a mystery.
One afternoon while Jebu was weeding the vegetable garden, a monk approached followed by a small, ragged figure carrying a travel box. The man had a heavy, untrimmed black beard that almost covered his entire face. Jebu did not recognize him.
"Shiké!"
Now Jebu saw the gaps in the teeth and the crossed eyes, and he knew who it was. "Moko!"
"Shiké, it has taken me this long to find my way to you. I have been over a year on the road, going from one Zinja temple to another, begging for my meals, hiding from samurai and bandits. Luckily I was able to escape with my dogu box. With my Instruments of the Way of Carpentry I was able to earn my living as I travelled. Every place I went, you had been there, but you were gone. Where you seemed to travel on wings, I followed on wooden feet."
Jebu threw his arms around the little man and led him to the edge of the garden, where they sat on a pair of boulders. "Tell me all the news you can. Is Taniko-san well?"
Moko's face fell and he was silent. Jebu seized his arm. "What is it?"
Moko hesitantly put his hand on Jebu's. "Shiké, after you found us at Horigawa's estate, I had to flee as well. The prince discovered I was your friend. I hated to leave the Lady Taniko alone with him, but I felt that my ghost would afford her small protection, so I went on my way."
"Did he hurt her?"
"Whatever I know is only what I've been told by others." And Moko told the story of the red-haired baby born to Taniko, its death, the fire and Taniko's return to Heian Kyo. Tears streamed from Jebu's eyes. When Moko's story was over, Jebu sat covering his face with his hands.
Suddenly he stood up, gave a great cry of anguish and rushed to the edge of the sea. There he threw himself on the stony ground and wept. A dark cloud covered his mind. At first he felt no more than a blackness and numbness within, as if a naginata blade had cloven his chest. Gradually, images rose within him: Taniko, the baby he had never seen, Horigawa.
If only she had listened to him. They could have run away together. Waves of sadness swept through him like the surf below in Hakata Bay. Two lives were in bondage to sorrow and the third snuffed out because Taniko refused to give up her status, to forget this marriage that had been made for her by fools, and run away with him. Their daughter was dead. How Taniko must have suffered. Jebu wept for the drowned child and for Taniko's agony.
He would go and kill Horigawa. He had never hated anyone this way before, not even Arghun. His enmity towards Arghun was a matter of principle; it was only right to hate the man who had killed his father and who wanted to kill him. But even though he had fought with Arghun, he felt he hardly knew the man, and from what little he did know, he felt a degree of respect for the Mongol.
With Horigawa, it was different. Horigawa had used and abused Taniko's body. He had killed their baby. The thought of Horigawa made his stomach churn and his fingers clench, aching to be wrapped around the man's scrawny neck. He hated the cruelty, the waste, the stupidity of Horigawa's act. It was Horigawa, too, who had egged on the Takashi and thereby set the great samurai families at each other's throats. Because of Horigawa thousands of good men were dead and much of the land lay in ruins. If Horigawa were to die, how many lives might be changed for the better?
If only he had killed him when he had the chance at Daidoji. He had been a fool to let him live. Some of the hatred he felt for Horigawa was directed at himself as well. It was because of his error that Horigawa had lived to kill Jebu's daughter.
The spasm of hatred recalled him to himself. He reached inside his robe to the secret place sewn into it, and he took out the shintai. Sitting up, he held the Jewel in both hands before his face, staring into the shifting planes of colour and light in its depths. For a moment he seemed to see the great glowing Tree of Life and some of the creatures that grew from it.
Peace spread slowly through his body. The grief was still there, a dull ache, but the hatred was gone.
Horigawa and I are one, he told himself. For me to kill him in hatred, thinking that I am ridding the world of evil, is as mad as cutting off my left hand with my right hand. Horigawa acts according to his nature and I act according to mine. If I kill him some day, it will be because it is necessary, not because I hate him and desire his death.
That, he thought with surprise, is the deepest level of insight I have achieved since Taitaro gave me the shintai.
He stood up and walked back to Moko, who was staring at him. "Shiké, what is that precious stone?"
"It is a gift to me from my fathers. Both of them." He put his hand on Moko's shoulder. "I'm all right now."
"Shiké, I want to stay with you. Let me be your servant, your Bannerman, your foot soldier-anything."
"A Zinja monk does not normally have servants. But these are not normal times. Yes, from now on you will travel with me."
A few days later Abbot Weicho called Jebu into his chamber. "You will continue to serve the Muratomo. The Council of Abbots is convinced that there is a doom hanging over the house of Takashi. It is important to the Order that Zinja be fighting on the winning side. When the Muratomo do win, we may see the revival of the Order for which we have long hoped."
Jebu was sent to the island of Shikoku to help a band of samurai besiege the castle of an oryoshi who was oppressing the countryside in the service of the Red Dragon. Jebu proposed to assassinate the oryoshi and was contemptuously told that it was impossible. The castle was so impregnable that a mouse could not get into it, and the oryoshi was guarded in shifts by samurai who even stood over his bed and watched him while he slept.
"He does not even send his guards away when he takes a woman," the local Muratomo leader said.
"Assassination is a Zinja speciality," said Jebu. "Leave this to me." Jebu infiltrated the castle by way of a sewer outlet into the moat around it. He hid in the castle privy for a day and a night, using Zinja meditative techniques to remain motionless and silent. When his intended victim came to relieve himself, Jebu ran his sword into his bowels and escaped by the same route he had entered. Leaderless, the castle fell to the Muratomo samurai, who looked on Jebu with superstitious horror. Moko helped him to wash his clothing and equipment, and would not let him out of the bath, which he constantly replenished with fresh, steaming water, for an entire day.
Jebu fought along with one band of samurai, then another, staying at one castle for a night, at another for a week, at a few for months. He besieged and was besieged, ambushed enemies in the forest and fought pitched battles in the streets of cities and villages. It was a way of life he had grown used to after Domei's insurrection, and one to which Moko quickly adapted.
But in spite of the Council of Abbots' hopes, the Muratomo leaders who held out against the Takashi were, one by one, captured or killed. The insurrection came to seem more like the scattered depredations of outlaw bands than an organized rebellion. The two surviving sons of Domei remained under guard in the hands of the Takashi. The elder, Hideyori, was still under the watchful eye of Taniko's father, Lord Shima Bokuden. His half-brother, Yukio, remained in Sogamori's custody in the Rokuhara, the Takashi stronghold in the capital. Both publicly disavowed any warfare conducted in their family's behalf, declaring it to be the work of bandits. They repeatedly swore their loyalty to the Emperor and to Sogamori.
Jebu's collection of swords grew month by month. After a battle, with Moko's help, he would find the swords of any samurai he killed, and Moko would carry them to the nearest Zinja monastery. Eventually the swords would make their way to the Teak Blossom Temple. Months later a message would arrive from Nyosan by some circuitous route, telling Jebu that the swords had arrived, and giving him the current tally.
Jebu continued his daily practice of contemplating the Jewel of Life and Death. Carefully secluding himself so that his samurai companions would not see and covet the Jewel, he would lose himself in the maze traced on the transparent sphere's surface.
Moko felt that the Jewel must be magic, and he feared its power over his master. Jebu had told Moko the whole story of Jamuga, Taitaro, Arghun and the shintai. The Jewel was beautiful, Moko thought, but why did the shiké spend so much time staring at it?
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
Sogamori has commanded that the young Muratomo no Yukio be moved from the Buddhist monastery on Mount Hiei to the Takashi palace, the Rokuhara. Sogamori claims he has heard of threats on the young man's life, but everyone agrees that the main threat to the Muratomo heir is Sogamori himself. Akimi, it is said, no longer has much influence on Sogamori, who has fallen foolishly in love with a sixteen-year-old white rhythm dancer from Kaga province named Hotoke.
I wonder what Father would do if Sogamori ordered him to execute Hideyori.
-Seventh Month, eleventh day
YEAR OF THE APE
Kiyosi's visits had become the high points of Taniko's life. He now came in the evening and brought his lute with him, and while he played, they sang together. First, though, they would spend an hour or two discussing the gossip of the day. Kiyosi found that nothing concerning the intrigues at the Court was beyond Taniko's comprehension, and he had even fallen into the habit of asking her opinion on difficult affairs of state in which he was involved.
"Father is beside himself with glee," he said one evening. "He says he has finally matched the accomplishment of the greatest Fujiwara."
"How so?"
"He has arranged for my sister, Kenreimon, to marry the Imperial Prince Takakura. And he intends to have Takakura succeed to the throne when Emperor Rokujo retires."
The year before in the Year of the Sheep, Emperor Nijo, whose Empress, Sadako, Taniko had served as a lady-in-waiting, had died after a short illness. Sogamori, the Retired Emperor Go-Shirakawa, and the Regent, Fujiwara no Motofusa, had agreed that the new Son of Heaven should be Nijo's son, Rokujo, who was now only four years old. Next in succession were two sons of Go-Shirakawa, Mochihito and Takakura.
Taniko pointed this out. "Prince Mochihito is next in line for the throne after Emperor Rokujo."
"He will be persuaded to step aside." Kiyosi looked away uneasily. For his visits, Taniko sent the servants away and put aside the screen of state. They had long since been conversing face-to-face. The Shima family had no fear of scandal. Indeed, Ryuichi was frankly hoping for something scandalous to occur.
"Kiyosi-san, this is a mistake. Your father is now tampering with the Imperial succession. His appetite is boundless. He is like the frog in the peasant tale who puffs himself up until he bursts. As you know, I hear things from people who would never talk to you or to a member of your family. People are afraid of the Takashi, and some are growing to hate them. What will they think when they learn that Sogamori intends to put a Takashi on the Imperial throne?"
"Just to marry the Emperor, not to be Emperor-"
"That wouldn't fool the stupidest street sweeper, and it doesn't fool me. Obviously Takakura and your sister will have a child, quite possibly a son. That child will be Sogamori's grandson. And as soon as that happens Takakura will conveniently abdicate and the Emperor will be a Takashi. Sogamori's ambition is as plain as Mount Hiei. I tell you, he overreaches himself."
"What Father intends is not unheard of," said Kiyosi. "The Fujiwara married their daughters to the Imperial heirs many times. The Imperial house today is as much descended from the Fujiwara as it is from Emperor Jimmu. And besides, we Takashi have Imperial blood. We are all descended from Emperor Kammu."
"It's not the same," said Taniko. "The Fujiwara were as close to the throne as a river to its banks when they intermarried with the Imperial house. Emperor Kammu lived a long time ago, and since then the Takashi have been provincial landowners, traders and samurai. People see you as rustic upstarts. And what's more, the Fujiwara themselves are among those you should be concerned about. They are envious of the power of the Takashi. Your worst enemy at Court is the Regent, Fujiwara no Motofusa."
"Motofusa is no danger to us."
"The Fujiwara still have enormous influence in the country."
"Influence. What difference does that make? You speak of people fearing and hating the Takashi. Why should we be concerned? The day of the Fujiwara, the day of the nobility, is over. They had authority, and we respected and obeyed them. They despised us, the samurai, because we did the fighting, we shed the blood. The nobles of Heian Kyo were above all that. When Go-Shirakawa's brother tried to overthrow him, and later, during Domei's insurrection, we discovered that it was our arrows and our swords that decided events. It is from the sword that authority springs. And now that the Muratomo have been crushed, every sword in the land does the bidding of the Takashi. My father holds the country in the palm of his hand."
Taniko shook her head. "You are talking like your father now. I think you know better. You cannot rule this land with swords alone. If the nobles, the priests, the landowners great and small, the peasants and the people in the streets all turn against the Takashi, they can bring you down. The swords that serve you today will turn against you, if your enemies seem to have right on their side."
Kiyosi said nothing for a moment. Then he spoke in a wondering voice. "You offend me."
Taniko bowed her head. "I have overstepped myself with the august Minister of the Interior."
"No one says such things to me any more."
"I ask your pardon."
"You don't understand. I need someone to remind me that the world still looks on the Takashi as uncouth butchers. We deceive ourselves.
Only you, Taniko-san, of all the people I know, speak to me of things as they really are." He did something he had never done before in all the times he had visited her. He moved across the floor until he was sitting beside her. He took her hand.
Taniko's hand felt as if she had put it close to a fire. A warmth spread through her arm to her entire body. It was a sensation she had felt many times on looking at Kiyosi, but never had it burned like this. She sighed with the pleasure of it.
"Have you nothing to say now?" he whispered.
"Words are not the only language." She put her hand on top of his. "I only came close to you. If that silences you, you are easily silenced."
"It has been very long since I was silenced so, Kiyosi-san," she said, letting her head fall against his chest.
Delicately his hands found their way into her robes. With the sure touch of a very experienced man his fingers penetrated the many layers of dresses and skirts she wore and found the recesses of her hungry body. She melted with joy at the sensation, and reached up to stroke his cheek again and again with an almost frantic insistence.
They undressed each other, not stripping away all their garments, but peeling away the layers of silk just enough to reveal each to the other, like a partially unwrapped gift. With a pang of regret Taniko thought fleetingly of Jebu, only to say to herself, as the samurai often said, that the past was the past and the present was the present, and this shining lord was someone she desperately needed and could not deny herself.
His face shadowed in the lamplight, he looked at her intently, seriously, his nostrils flaring as he drew deep breaths. Always, before now, she had seen him fully dressed in the clothing of a courtier. Now, for the first time, she saw and felt the power in him-the solid, broad neck, the wide, square shoulders, the great, flat muscles across his chest. She stroked his arms delicately with her fingers. These were the thick forearms of a swordsman, strong as tree trunks.
This was the body of a man trained from childhood to kill. He was, and would always be, a samurai, a man whose way of life was death. To such a man, who faced death constantly, a moment like this must be very precious. Each time he was with a woman he must know that it might be the last time, and this knowledge must give the union a painful sweetness which no man but a samurai could ever know. With Kiyosi she shared that poignancy, that transience.
This beautiful man might be cut down tomorrow, like a flower in a field. Shuddering with pleasure, she gave herself to him.
For the first time, Taniko experienced what it was to spend night after night with a man she loved. Her days passed with a honey-warm delight she had never known before. It was as if she had gone hungry all her life and was only now discovering the taste of good food.
Examining her body in privacy, she found her hips and breasts growing rounder, fuller, though her waist and legs were still slender. She had the figure of a woman now, no longer the body of a girl. Her mirror told her that her cheeks were a healthy pink, which, of course, she had to hide with white powder when she dressed. Her eyes sparkled and her hair was thick and glossy. How far she had come from the wraithlike creature invoking Amida Buddha in the corner of her chamber! How far Kiyosi had taken her! She had never been more beautiful.
They began to travel together. Kiyosi took her for carriage rides through the city and on visits to nearby shrines. During the autumn they went several times to one of the Takashi country estates, where they spent the day riding and hunting with falcons. They sailed the length of the Inland Sea from the port of Hyogo, which the Takashi virtually owned, to Shimonoseki Strait, opening into the great western sea.
Since she was no longer connected with the Court, and since their relationship had no official status, she was unable to accompany him to any of the great state banquets and festivals he frequently attended. But she was always with him at smaller, intimate dinners and parties he and his close friends gave for one another. Kiyosi was the centre of a circle of young nobles and courtiers who wrote poetry, patronized sculptors and painters, talked and drank and played the flute and the koto and the lute until dawn and went on long rollicking visits to one another's country houses.
Taniko found the young Takashi men to be brilliant, evanescent creatures. A few years ago these young men would have been going to war instead of reciting poetry or riding after their falcons. One day war might strike Heian Kyo again, and some of these young men might fall. In their poems, the samurai often compared themselves to cherry blossoms, beautiful but blown away by the first strong wind. Taniko thought the comparison apt.
She knew that Kiyosi had a principal wife and two secondary wives, as well as sons and daughters. In matters involving affairs of state, this was the family to which Kiyosi was responsible. She did not resent them, and she hoped they did not resent her. They had possessed Kiyosi long before she knew him, and they would have him back long after she lost him. Somehow or other she would lose him, of that she was sure. All joy, she had learned, lasts only for a moment. Cherry blossoms. She wrote a poem for Kiyosi.
Many are the nights
We sleep in each other's arms.
In years to come
We will think these nights all too few.
Kiyosi didn't like it. It was depressing, he told her, to dwell on the instability of life. Such matters should be left to monks. As for himself, he intended to live for ever.
We have slept together
And your long black hair is tangled in the dawn. We will remain together
Till your black hair turns white.
Sogamori, Kiyosi's awesome father, approved of her. They had met several times at Takashi banquets, and the stout chancellor had smiled benignly and spoken pleasantly to her.
Aunt Chogao beamed and little Munetaki peeped, awestruck, as the Takashi hero strode through the Shima galleries. Uncle Ryuichi was beside himself with delight and sent glowing reports to Lord Bokuden in Kamakura about the way Taniko had charmed herself into the highest circles of the Takashi. Bokuden wrote letters back praising Taniko and mentioning in passing that Muratomo no Hideyori was growing up to be a dutiful subject of the Emperor and was no danger to the social order.
He was already fully grown when I met him five years ago, Taniko thought, even if he was only fifteen.
She managed, while being honest with Kiyosi, to be of help to her family. She told Kiyosi in a straightforward way that she wanted to do things for the Shima, and he gladly supplied her with information and sometimes with more tangible gifts to pass on. Several times he told Taniko where Chinese trading ships were going to land their goods secretly to avoid the Emperor's tax officers. Though the Takashi held the highest government offices in the land, much of their wealth was based on tax avoidance.
It amused Kiyosi to help the fortunes of what seemed to him a smaller and poorer branch of his own family. He persuaded Sogamori to double the allowance sent annually for the maintenance of Muratomo no Hideyori in Lord Bokuden's household. Grants of tax-free rice land descended on the Shima family unexpectedly.
Kiyosi smiled when she thanked him for his benevolence to her family. He said, "There are certain small fish that attach themselves to a shark, and when he feeds, they enjoy the morsels that fall from his mouth."
Taniko laughed. "That is a disgusting comparison, Kiyosi-san."
"Not at all. The small fish are said to help the shark find his way. It is my hope that your family will similarly be helpful to us."
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
This has been a good year for me, but a bad year for the realm. Famine and pestilence are laying to waste both the capital and the countryside. Every day carts piled high with the bodies of those dead of disease or starvation are taken out through the Rasho Mon to be burned. People are robbed on the streets in broad daylight. Crowds of beggars surround the mansions of the wealthy. The Shima house has its regular contingent, who appear at our door every morning like a flock of sparrows. Uncle Ryuichi lets me feed them, because he feels I have brought good luck to the family. But I tell the beggars not to let it be known that I am giving them anything, or the flock will double in size, and I will be sent out into the street to join them.
The Takashi seem unable to do anything about these steadily worsening conditions, or perhaps they do not care. But they permit no criticism of themselves. They have over three hundred young men between fourteen and sixteen who cut their hair short, wear robes of Takashi red, and patrol the streets. Let someone whisper a word against the Takashi, and before he knows what is happening he is whisked off to the dungeon in the Rokuhara and beaten almost to death. More than once the bodies of men and women have been found in the Kamo River. It is said officially that they were killed by robbers. But often the last time these unfortunates were seen alive was when they were dragged into the Takashi stronghold. In past times, when the people complained, the rulers tried to improve conditions. The Takashi have found a cheaper way to stop complaints.
Although my young lord likes me to be frank with him, we do not talk much about these things. He knows about them. He often seems troubled when he talks to me, and he is silent for long moments. When we do talk of matters of state he pours out his fears for the future of the land, his unhappiness over the suffering of the people. But his father will have things as they are, and my young lord can do nothing but try to advise him. I hear that Sogamori's rages are becoming more frequent and lasting longer. Just the day before yesterday he smashed to pieces a precious vase from China because Motofusa, the Fujiwara Regent, made a speech criticizing him in the Great Council of State.
I yield myself to my young lord because he is noble and strong and beautiful. He possesses everything that my husband has not at all and that only Jebu has in greater abundance. I yield myself because life is short and I cannot sit in lonely sorrow. I need the arms of a strong man around me. I know Amida Buddha sees, and has compassion on me. But-oh, Jebu! Where are you?
-Tenth Month, sixteenth day
YEAR OF THE APE
In the Eleventh Month Taniko discovered that, as the ladies of the Court sometimes put it, she was not alone. She was surprised that her immediate reaction was joy. She had not thought that she would ever care about having a child, after the loss of her daughter. For over two months after she was sure, she concealed her condition from Kiyosi. She was not sure whether he would be pleased or displeased when he learned.
One night he touched her bare belly with his fingertips. "I think you are attending too many banquets and drinking too much sake. You seem to be getting rounder in the middle."
Taniko smiled, then laughed outright. Kiyosi sat smiling at her.
At last she said, "Can't you guess why my belly is fuller?"
"Spoken like a true country wench. Yes, I suspected. I sensed something different about you. Ah, Taniko-san, I am glad. I had hoped that some day you would tell me this news."
"You're glad? Why? You already have many sons and daughters." He smiled. "I have wanted to give you a special gift."
She held out her arms to him, and they drew together.
The voluminous clothing worn by the well-born women of Heian Kyo concealed pregnancy until the very last moment. Taniko was able, as she wished, to accompany Kiyosi on short journeys, to go to banquets and other celebrations and to venture out in public by herself from time to time. The physician who attended the Takashi in war and peace, a man who had watched over Sogamori's health for thirty years, came to examine and prescribe for Taniko and promised that he would be there when she delivered. Taniko hoped that this childbirth would not be as long and as painful as the last.
Her hope was fulfilled. She felt the first labour pains at dawn on the fourteenth day of the Fifth Month in the Year of the Rooster. By midmorning the Takashi physician and a midwife under his direction were with her in the Shima lying-in room. Early in the afternoon Taniko gave one last, agonized push' and the midwife drew the baby out of her body.
"He will be called Atsue," Taniko said when the physician held the baby up for her to see.
Kiyosi came to see her and the baby at sunset. Surprisingly, his father was with him. Through the blinds of the lying-in room Taniko could hear the clatter of Sogamori's mounted samurai attendants. Ryuichi was beside himself with delight and apprehension. Sogamori's presence filled the house as if Mount Hiei itself had come down to the city and was walking among them.
"There cannot be enough of us," he declared. "The boy Atsue is Takashi on both his mother's and his father's side. He will learn the arts of war, but he will also learn poetry, musicianship, calligraphy, and the dance. He will be able to appear before the Emperor without concern." He looked sternly at Taniko. "You will see to it. For now he will remain with you. No expense will be spared for his education."
Taniko looked at Kiyosi who stood beside his father. In Sogamori's presence the younger man seemed diminished, a youth without a mind of his own. Taniko saw that Kiyosi might well be the wiser of the two, as many people said, but it was the strength and will of Sogamori that made the Takashi all-powerful.
She felt a chill at Sogamori's ominous words, "for now." Kiyosi smiled reassuringly at her. Tomorrow, she thought, he would come, and they would talk as they always had.
Early in the spring of Jebu's twenty-third year, he and Moko were camped near the Rasho Mon gate of Heian Kyo with a group of samurai disguised as silk merchants. They had been commissioned by the surviving Muratomo leaders to attempt the rescue from the Rokuhara of Muratomo no Yukio, who, it was rumoured, was in grave danger of being murdered by the suspicious Sogamori.
"The boy is a constant reproach to Sogamori," said Shenzo Saburo, the leader of Jebu's band. "He reminds Sogamori that the Takashi murdered his father and grandfather and his older brothers. The tyrant will not rest easy till he has killed off all the generations of Muratomo."
None of the samurai, it turned out, had ever been in Heian Kyo except for Jebu and Moko, and none of them had seen the Rokuhara. Holding a council, the samurai agreed that Jebu would go into the city first, a scout.
"Dress as a Buddhist warrior monk, a sohei, Jebu," said Shenzo Saburo. "Go into the city and enquire about Lord Yukio. Observe the Rokuhara and report back to me how strongly guarded it is and how we might get Lord Yukio out. And shave your head, Jebu. It's your red hair that makes you conspicuous. There are plenty of tall monks and peasants in the world."
As Moko shaved his head, Jebu drew his tally scroll out of an inside pocket in his robe. "I have collected ninety-nine swords. Only one to go."
"Shiké, this sword collecting of yours is madness."
"Yes, it is foolish. But in an impulsive moment I made a vow. When I collect one more sword I can stop."
After several hours of wandering the broad avenues and smaller side streets of Heian Kyo with his naginata over his shoulder, Jebu was frustrated. He found it difficult to approach people on the streets and in the wine shops, and the people he did speak to were terrified of talking to a stranger. He had only to mention the name "Muratomo" and the conversation would abruptly be broken off. The red-robed young men who patrolled the streets for Sogamori had terrorized the whole city. Several times Jebu encountered groups of them, and like the other citizens of Heian Kyo he prudently crossed over to the other side of the street.
No one would tell Jebu anything useful about Lord Yukio's condition, his whereabouts in the Rokuhara, how well he was guarded, or the strength of the Takashi samurai. But the Takashi were so unpopular that his guarded questions aroused no hostility, only warnings that he was broaching matters better left alone. Jebu decided that he would go and look at the Takashi stronghold for himself and report back on its apparent defences. That would give him something to show for his journey into the city.
Then it appeared that his one-man expedition might produce another result. At the darkest hour of the night, Jebu, wandering westward towards the Kamo River to get to the Rokuhara, heard the music of a flute. Someone was playing an air of the eastern provinces. There was something almost magical in the pure, sweet sound carrying on the still night air. Jebu smiled appreciatively.
He stepped on to the bridge called Gojo, over the Kamo River. This was the very bridge on which he had first crossed into Heian Kyo with Taniko. In the moonless dark he could faintly make out the three towers of the Rokuhara on the far side of the bridge.
Then he saw the flute player strolling towards him from the other end of the bridge. It was a man dressed in a green and yellow hunting costume, with his long sword hanging from his belt. He was small and slender and looked very young. His long black hair hung unbound below his shoulders. He had no samurai topknot, but he wore a samurai sword. He must be very young, indeed. Strange that such a boy should be out so late.
To fight and perhaps kill this flute-playing lad would be a shameful way to collect his last sword. But an armed man in Heian Kyo must be on the Takashi side. Perhaps this was one of Sogamori's young bullies, off duty and out of his red robe. If so, it was time he was taught some humility.
Swinging his naginata down from his shoulder, Jebu fell into, an atthe-ready stance, barring the young man's path across the bridge. "You play very well."
"Thank you, sohei," said the boy politely, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly as his glance fell on the long pole arm in Jebu's hands. "Can I be of service to you?"
"I want your sword. Give it to me and I'll let you pass."
Calmly the young man sheathed his flute, drew a fan from his sash and snapped it open. It was white, with a red disk painted on it. What on earth did he intend to do with that? He was a good-looking boy, Jebu saw, though the eyes under his high forehead were larger than normal, which gave him a somewhat feminine prettiness. When he smiled, he displayed slightly protruding teeth.
"My sword is my most valuable possession, sohei. I find it rather an insult for you to suggest that I give it up without a fight."
"Do not force me to attack you, young man. Do you intend to defend yourself with that fan?"
"If you are a well-trained sohei, you must be acquainted with the art of the war fan. I'll use this until I see the need for a more puissant weapon. It is always better to use too little force than too much, don't you think?"
Jebu laughed. "So young and such a sage?"
"I have given some thought to military matters. Are you going to stand there talking, sohei, or are you going to come at me?" The youth crouched slightly, the absurd fan held out before him.
Very well, Jebu thought. He would try to subdue the young man without hurting him. Waving his naginata from side to side, he took a few menacing steps forward. Suddenly, he swung the naginata at the boy's feet, trying to knock him down with its long pole. At the last possible second the youth stepped quickly backwards, and the naginata's sword blade sliced into the railing of the bridge. Jebu pulled the weapon free and stepped back, trying to draw his opponent into an attack. But what sort of attack could he make, armed with nothing but a fan? The flute player simply stood his ground, eyeing Jebu intently.
Once again Jebu lunged, whirling his naginata in a great arc that was intended, not to hurt, but to force the boy off-balance in evading it. This time, instead of stepping back, the young man made a prodigious leap into the air. Jebu's naginata whistled harmlessly through the space where he had been.
Jebu considered himself to be faster than any swordsman he had ever met, except for some Zinja teachers he had fenced with. But this lad's bursts of speed were absolutely blinding. From a position of perfect stillness the young man could move so quickly as to make the movement seem invisible. Jebu repeatedly attacked places where his opponent had been an instant before, only to realize that the young man was now six paces away.
Then the boy darted in past Jebu's guard, the fan thrust into Jebu's face, blinding him. Then, folding the fan, the youth stabbed its rigid ribs into the backs of Jebu's hands. The pain was excruciating, and it was all Jebu could do to keep his grip on his naginata. The boy beat him about the head and face with the folded fan, the blows coming as fast and furiously as the hammering of a woodpecker's beak on a tree trunk. Growling like an angry bear, Jebu managed to shove the boy away.
To be so discomfited by a lad fighting with a fan-this was humiliating. He must defeat him and take his sword.
No, Jebu thought then. Why must he defeat the young man? His opponent was excellent, he himself was excellent. They were brothers in the warrior's arts. It didn't matter which of them won.
Satisfied to fight now for the pleasure of using his skill, Jebu found himself doing much better. He was driving the young man back. He had him pinned against the railing of the bridge. He looked into his opponent's large eyes and saw there a slight amusement, and deeper than that, he saw the Self looking at him.
The young man leaped to the railing and stood there, balanced on the balls of his bare feet. He was laughing. Jebu slashed at his ankles and the young man jumped into the air, letting the blade pass under him. He landed and danced backwards along the railing, parrying Jebu's thrusts with his open fan. His agility was awe-inspiring. Jebu remembered Moko's legend of the demon of the Rasho Mon, and suddenly wondered if he were fighting with a spirit.
Enough of this, he thought. He stopped fighting and lowered his naginata. He chuckled, then started to laugh aloud. He stood there on the bridge, roaring with laughter and delight.
"You are the best opponent I have ever fought! The best! Who are you?"
Smiling, not even out of breath, the young man dropped lightly to the planks of the bridge, folded his fan with elaborate care and tucked it back into his green sash.
"Who are you?" Jebu asked again.
"The samurai ask who their opponents are before a fight, but you ask afterwards. I have known all along that you are Jebu, the Zinja shiké."
"How do you know me?"
"For years I have been hearing tales of a large brute of a monk, who goes up and down the countryside attacking samurai and collecting their swords. He is said to have red hair. Your head is shaved-I suppose you consider that a disguise. How many swords in your collection now, Jebu?"
"Ninety-nine. I vowed to collect a hundred. Yours would have been the last. But meeting you means far more to me than collecting another sword."
"I am glad of that. You fought beside my father and my brothers. I want to be your friend."
"Who are you?"
"I am Muratomo no Yukio."
Jebu fell to his knees and pressed his forehead against the wooden planking. "I have been seeking you."
"You have? Tonight I just escaped from the Rokuhara."
"And you stopped to fight with me? What if the Takashi were pursuing you? You should have simply given me the sword and hurried on."
Yukio laughed. "I could not miss the chance to learn the outcome of a contest with the great Jebu."
"How did you learn to use a fan like that? I heard you were being educated for the Buddhist priesthood."
"I was tutored in the martial arts by the tengu. Every night I used to slip out of the monastery to fence with them."
"The tengu?"
"Little creatures, half man and half bird, who live in the mountains. Very skilled with all weapons, including the war fan and the tea kettle."
"Do you expect me to believe that?"
Yukio laughed. "The monks of Mount Hiei did. Monks are generally very superstitious."
"Not Zinja monks," said Jebu. "Lord Yukio, I am part of a band of allies of your house who came here with the hope of rescuing you from Sogamori before he could harm you. We are camped outside the city near the Rasho Mon. I am delighted to see that you have rescued yourself, but we must get away from the city at once. Having fought you, I know that you are truly worthy to lead the house of Muratomo."
"The leader of the house of Muratomo is my elder brother Hideyori," said Yukio. "He is in exile at Kamakura, but he will come forward at the proper time."
"As you say, lord." Jebu bowed again. "No more sword collecting for me. This night I make a new vow. Because Lord Muratomo no Yukio has prevented me from fulfilling my vow of collecting one hundred swords and because he has shown me what the art of swordsmanship truly is, I vow to serve him faithfully and constantly as long as both he and I shall live. I swear it on the honour of the Order of Zinja. In token of this vow, I offer him my sword." Drawing his Zinja sword, he held it out to Yukio. The handsome young man extended his hand over the sword without touching it-the customary samurai gesture to indicate acceptance of an offer of service.
"I accept your sword and I am deeply honoured. As a son of Muratomo no Domei, I expect many men to swear fealty to me as time passes. You are the first. I know that this is the sword that was presented to you by your Order at your initiation, and therefore it is a precious symbol of your holy calling. In the name of the house of Muratomo I accept your offer of service. I pledge you and your Order the same loyalty you offer me." He handed the sword back to Jebu, who sheathed it with tears in his eyes.
"And now," said Yukio, "let us go to join our friends at the Rasho Mon. Perhaps whoever shaved your head can perform the manhood ceremony for me. For some reason, even though I'm already fifteen, Lord Sogamori never would allow it."
Surprisingly, for a trio as unusual in appearance and easy to recognize as Jebu, Yukio and Moko, the three continually managed to elude the samurai sent out by the Takashi to hunt them down. Sometimes they were barely out one door when their pursuers entered through another. Sometimes they enjoyed long periods of peace under the protection of one or another friendly local lord. Sometimes the idleness of safety grew boring, and they were almost happy when word came that a group of samurai flying the Red Dragon pennon was riding their way.
Yukio's main objective was to survive and wait for the Takashi to make a mistake. They had risen so high, they must come down eventually. There was no possibility of the house of Muratomo's accepting the permanent supremacy of the house of Takashi. During his captivity Yukio had tried to remain on good terms with Sogamori, but still Sogamori had been on the verge of having him killed when he escaped.
Yukio finally explained to Jebu that he had secretly taught himself the martial arts and devised his own exercises for practice. Jebu was almost inclined to believe Yukio's tengu story. Somehow Yukio had made discoveries in the fighting skills that were not likely to occur to anyone who had learned in the usual way from a recognized teacher. Jebu and Yukio practised together constantly, and Jebu was quite willing to admit that in this youth he had met his master. Together the two men progressed to unparalleled accomplishments with their weapons. When, on occasion, they were forced to fight, legends were born.
Yukio was also interested in the theoretical side of war, and when he learned that a landlord in the land of Oshu, at the far northern tip of Honshu island, had a copy of the Chinese classic, Sun Tzu's Art of Warfare, he could not rest until he had read it. The owner of the book being a Takashi adherent, Yukio could not simply present himself at the gate and ask permission to read the book. He had to gain entry to the household by stealth.
The landlord also had a beautiful daughter named Mirusu. Each night Yukio positioned himself outside her bedchamber and wooed her by playing the flute, so softly as not to wake the rest of her family. After he had charmed her for six nights with his flute-playing, Mirusu invited him in. He spent the following nights making love to her, and when he had pleased her sufficiently, reading the thirteen books of Sun Tzu.
Yukio was also fascinated by ships. He had studied books on naval warfare and examined the records of the old battles with pirates that had won the Takashi renown in the last century. Yet he had never been on a ship. He questioned Jebu closely about his few voyages and asked Moko what he, as a carpenter, knew about shipbuilding.
"Ships are the key to Takashi power," Yukio declared one day. They were far to the north, enjoying the protection of the lord of Oshu, Fujiwara no Hidehira, who owed old debts of gratitude to the Muratomo and who bitterly hated the Takashi.
Yukio went on. "Half the Takashi wealth comes from overseas trade. My family can never defeat them as long as we are landlocked. We, too, must take to the sea. You may not know that the patron kami of the Muratomo, Hachiman, was once called Yawata and was a kami of the ocean. So our heritage is of the ocean, and in the ocean we will win the final victory over the Takashi."
"We should go to Kyushu," said Jebu. "It's time we left here, we've imposed on Lord Hidehira long enough. My mother and my stepfather both live on Kyushu, and it has been years since I've seen them. My mother lives at the Zinja Teak Blossom Temple, and this is what will interest you-the temple is on Hakata Bay. There are fishing boats and a few bigger ships there, and you can study the sea and talk to seamen to your heart's content. Hakata is a small port, and the Takashi have no forces there. We can live there unseen for as long as we like."
"Might it be possible to cross the ocean from there?"
"Korea is very close."
"I was thinking of China," said Yukio pensively. "In China the arts of shipbuilding and navigation are advanced far beyond ours."
Disguised as yamabushi-wandering Buddhist monks - Jebu, Yukio and Moko worked their way down the west coast of Honshu, crossing to Kyushu at Shimonoseki Strait.
"This is a short run, but it's tricky," said the captain of the fishing boat that weaved a twisting course past hilly islands. "In mid-morning at this time of year, the tide shifts and runs westwards through the strait at eight knots, and we have to navigate across it."
"You see, that's the sort of thing I want to know," Yukio said to Jebu.
"You can't expect to pick up every bit of seafaring lore in all the land," said Jebu.
"We must learn as much as we can."
The three made their way down Kyushu towards Hakata. Jebu insisted on a side trip to the Watefowl Temple, but though the temple had been rebuilt, it was deserted. His heart sank, wondering if anything had happened to Taitaro. Finally, they climbed the hill to the Teak Blossom Temple.
"Is there any news of my father?" Jebu asked roly-poly Abbot Weicho.
"The great Taitaro has left these Sacred Islands. He came to visit us here a year ago. His teachings on the Zinja way of life were incomparable. Unfortunately, though, he only stayed with us a few months. Then his Zinja insight told him that it was time for him to cross the great water. There are things to be learned in China, he said, that will be lost in another few years."
"I have been thinking of making the voyage to China myself, holiness," said Yukio.
Weicho nodded. "If Lord Yukio goes, Jebu, you must go with him. The Order has decreed that your task now is to accompany him, to serve, protect and fight for him."
Yukio joined with pleasure in the daily routine of the monks. Moko was set to work repairing the monastery's granary, which was old and about to fall down. He found occupation for his free time, he told Jebu with pride and pleasure, in the company of a woman of the village, who thought his tales of adventure more than adequate compensation for his odd appearance.
Jebu spent a day visiting with Nyosan. "I can't understand why Taitaro does this to you," he said to his mother. "This pursuit of insight without concern for others is a kind of spiritual greed."
Nyosan patted Jebu's hand. "I am pleased that you are indignant for me. But my life has given me three of the most splendid men I have ever known-my husband, Jamuga the barbarian, a giant of a man and a magnificent warrior, and my husband Taitaro, a giant of the spirit. And it has given me a son who combines the best of both. I am well content."
"You may be content, Mother, but you have not got all you deserve."
"If each of us got what we deserve we would have to be in both heaven and hell at the same time. The way things are makes more sense."
One afternoon Abbot Weicho sent for Jebu and Yukio. They met in a cryptomeria-shaded grove at the base of the path leading to the peak overlooking the temple.
Weicho had a visitor with him, a round-faced, shaven-headed monk in a black robe. "Normally," Weicho was saying to the visitor, "our temples are placed at the very tops of mountains. But here the peak is too sharp, so we built the temple down here and put a small hut for meditation up there instead."
The visitor smiled and nodded. Since the Buddhists wore saffron, the Shinto monks white and the Zinja grey, Jebu wondered what way this black-robed man followed. His eyes, as he looked at Jebu and Yukio, were somehow at once warm and stern. He seemed an inconsequential fellow, just another monk in a land where there were tens of thousands until Jebu looked into his face. There was a rock-hard strength in the directness of his stare, the firmness of his lips and the set of his jaw. He looks at me as Taitaro did, thought Jebu.
"I am called Eisen. I bring a Buddhist teaching back from China. It is called Zen. In Chinese, Ch'an."
Weicho chuckled. "You will not convert Jebu. He's the most stubborn Zinja in the land. And Lord Yukio is too interested in fighting to care about religion. But I thought you might tell them something about China, since they are considering going there. And in repayment they will escort you to the top of the mountain, since I'm too lazy to take you myself."
"A soft Zinja is no Zinja," Jebu quoted The Zinja Manual.
"You are also the most sententious Zinja in the land," said Weicho. "May I remind you that the Manual also says, 'On occasion the soft serves better than the hard. Where the sword cannot cut, the pillow may smother or the silken cord strangle.' You may escort Eisen-sensei to our meditation hut while amusing him with your borrowed wisdom."
As they began to climb, Jebu said, "What does the word Zen mean? I never heard it before."
Eisen laughed. "Some of us have spent years asking ourselves what Zen means. It comes from an Indian word, dhyana, which means meditation."
"So you teach meditation," said Jebu. "On what do you meditate?" Eisen smiled. "Some of us meditate on a question, such as 'What is Zen?' Others, like myself, meditate on nothing at all."
"To what end?" Jebu asked.
"We meditate to meditate, that's all."
"I don't understand."
"It's very simple. That's why it's hard to understand." They were half-way up the stone steps leading through the small pines that grew on the mountain. Though Eisen was a stocky man, he was breathing easily and seemed to have no difficulty with the climb.
They took up the conversation again, Jebu and Eisen doing most of the talking. Yukio, having spent his boyhood practising the martial arts secretly at night and sleeping during the day when he was supposed to be studying philosophy, had little to say. Jebu doggedly argued that spiritual practises had to produce results of some sort, even if only rebirth in the Pure Land. Eisen sidestepped all his arguments with amusement, much as Yukio had evaded his sword thrusts on the Gojo Bridge. At last they reached the top of the mountain, where there was a small straw hut sheltered by pines that had dug precarious footholds among the boulders. Beyond the hut and the pines the shoreline stretched encircling arms out to the horizon to form Hakata Bay.
Eisen said, "Long ago men whose names we no longer know went into the forests and up to the tops of mountains and thought about why people are not happy. And they came to the same conclusion: we should seek happiness in nothing at all. The Brahmans of India learned from those original sages. The Buddha and Lao Tzu both restated their teachings. The same wisdom is the heart of the lore of Zinja and Zen monks. I find there is much similarity between our two paths. Only, if you will forgive my saying so, we part company on the matter of warfare. We students of Zen believe that violence is an obstacle to enlightenment. The Zinja do not hesitate to kill or injure others."
"Like you, we seek enlightenment," Jebu said, "but we do it through the practice of the arts of warfare. We learn to be forgetful of the conscious mind. We learn to love our opponents and not to fear death. Even the samurai, if they learned the Zinja principles of fighting, could aspire to the same sort of enlightenment you teach, sensei."
"Perhaps I am wrong about the military arts," said Eisen. "If any samurai should come to me for teaching, I will not turn him away."
He sat down before the entrance to the hut, facing out to sea. Jebu and Yukio sat with him.
Yukio said, "Tell us about China, sensei. I hear the Emperor of China is fighting barbarians. I am thinking of taking fighting men over the water to serve the Chinese Emperor. There are many of us whose lives are forfeit if we stay here, many who have lost everything to the Takashi. Perhaps we will find better fortune in China."
"Too bad you are not going, as I did, to learn from the Chinese. But if the Central Kingdom, as they call it, is not saved from the barbarians, there will be nothing left to learn."
"Who are these barbarians?" Yukio asked. Jebu knew these barbarians were his father's people, but he wondered what Eisen would say about them.
Eisen said, "There are many peoples who live in the grasslands north of the borders of China. They are called Cathayans, Kin, Manchus, Tartars-and Mongols. They spend their lives on horseback, herding cattle and other animals. They live in tents and have no fixed abode. From time to time they make war on the farming people to the south. Ages ago a Chinese Emperor built a Great Wall to keep them out, but as with all walls its promise of security was false. A hundred years ago people called Cathayans crossed the Wall and took the northern half of China for their own. Then a people called the Kin conquered the Cathayans. They seized all the riches, settled in the cities and learned Chinese ways. Now the Mongols have come. They have utterly destroyed the Kin. They threaten the native rulers of China, the Sung dynasty, who still hold the southern half of the country."
Yukio said, "I have heard of these Mongols. I have heard that they have no human law and are more ferocious than tigers or bears."
Eisen shrugged. "You know how men will exaggerate when describing their enemy. Actually, their laws are very strict, and among them many transgressions are punished by death. They are a fearless, energetic, intelligent people. They are capable of enduring incredible hardships. What they have achieved in recent years they owe to a leader called Genghis Khan. In their language his name means Mightiest Ruler. He wrote their code of laws, which is called the Yassa."
He was the ruler who sent Arghun to kill my father and me, thought Jebu. He who commanded the obliteration of whole families, of whole cities.
"This Genghis Khan was a master of warfare," Eisen went on. "Other barbarian horsemen from the grasslands simply swarmed like locusts, overwhelming the civilized peoples with their numbers and ferocity. But Genghis Khan shaped the Mongols into a well-organized, well-drilled army. That is why their conquests extend beyond all others. Even though Genghis Khan died many years ago, long before I went to China, his successors have continued to use his methods of making war to extend the Mongol territories even further. Genghis Khan was a ruler more awesome and brilliant than any Emperor of China or Japan has been in the last thousand years."
Yukio looked shocked. "You would compare a barbarian warlord to our Emperor?"
Eisen raised a placating hand. "Not at all. Our Emperor is a manifest kami. He is the child of the sun goddess. But there are times when clouds obscure his light. At present, I think, the clouds are thick and numerous in this Sunrise Land."
Yukio nodded. "For many of us the clouds are too thick. That is why we are willing to seek service with the Emperor of the Land of Sunset."
"I wish you a safe journey, and may you return some day to a happier country." Eisen pulled himself into a more rigid sitting position, crossing his legs and hooking his feet over his thighs, then folding his hands in his lap.
He said, "I know the Zinja do not use any special position when they meditate. But I have found that once you have assumed this position, it is impossible to lose your balance and fall over, even if you drop off to sleep." And he rolled from side to side like a doll with a weighted bottom that cannot be tipped over. Jebu and Yukio laughed as they bade him goodbye.
"My mind is made up," Yukio said at the bottom of the hill. "I am going to China. Come with me only if you want to. I don't care that your Order says you must accompany me. I don't want you with me unless you want to come."
"Please let me come with you. I want to go to China for many reasons."
"Fine. I intend to send out a message secretly to our friends in all the provinces - Muratomo no Yukio is going to China and calls for every samurai who supports the Muratomo cause to come with him. Normally it would not be proper for me to issue such a call without the permission of my brother Hideyori, our clan chieftain. But Hideyori is a prisoner in exile in Kamakura and cannot speak freely. His captors might even force him to denounce me for doing this. But I know that in his heart he will be cheering me on."
Somehow, Jebu could not picture the grim, controlled Hideyori cheering for anything that did not benefit him directly.
Yukio went on, "There is nothing left for us now in these islands. The Takashi rule everywhere. Those who have been loyal to the Muratomo have been stripped of their lands, many of them hunted as outlaws. All the wealth of the world is in China. We can help save the greatest civilization in the world from the barbarians. And the day will come when the Takashi will be weaker than they are now, and we may perhaps return when fortune favours us, and take back what is rightfully ours. Meanwhile, we will gather men and hire ships, and we will present ourselves to the Emperor of the Sung as a fighting force. You and I will lead."
That night, when Moko was through working on the granary, Jebu told him of Yukio's decision. Moko smiled broadly.
"Long ago, shiké, when we first met, I told you I would go to China with you if need be. Now, even though I have found the joys of love here in Hakata, I am ready to prove that I mean what I promised."
The ox-drawn carriage rumbled down the rocky road from Mount Hiei. Before it walked ten unarmed samurai, while six more brought up the rear. In the front of the procession walked an ageing banner-man, an honoured veteran of the rebellions of past years, many times wounded. He carried a red Takashi banner. The dragon portrayed on the banner was at rest, indicating that this was not a war flag, but one to be displayed peacefully on family occasions.
In the carriage Atsue, aged nine, blew idle notes on his flute. He and Taniko were returning from his regular music lesson at the temple on Mount Hiei.
"I wish the koto was small enough to carry with us so I could practise on it now," he said.
"Some of the country folk play a little stringed instrument called the samisen," said Taniko. "I could get one of those for you."
"I don't want anything from country people," said the boy. "Country people are stupid and ugly and rude. I don't want to be anything like them."
"I'm from the country."
"No one would know it if you didn't tell them, Mother. You're a fine lady."
Smiling, Taniko peered through the curtained window of the palm-leaf carriage. The procession had already entered the great gateway in the north wall of the city. The small group of Imperial police officers guarding the gate saluted the Takashi banner as the veteran carried it through. Now the carriage passed into the shadow of the gateway.
Suddenly, someone shouted at them to stop. The voice was angry, peremptory.
"Remove this carriage from the gate. Make way for the Imperial Regent, His Highness Fujiwara no Motofusa." The carriage came to a halt.
Taniko looked through the front curtains. The shouting man was wearing rich, orchid-coloured chamberlain's robes. Four other men in black silk robes, wearing the long, slender swords of the Court in black and gold scabbards, had seized the head of the ox and halted its slow forward pace.
The bannerman, holding his staff as if there were a naginata blade at the end of it instead of a square of red cloth, cried, "This carriage carries Shima no Atsue, son of the esteemed Takashi no Kiyosi, commanderin-chief of the Imperial army, and grandson of the noble Takashi no Sogamori, Imperial chancellor and victor over the Emperor's rebellious enemies." The bannerman made it sound as if all those august personages were riding in the carriage with the child Atsue, Taniko thought.
More armed men in black silk surrounded the bannerman. The unarmed Takashi samurai moved closer to the carriage. Looking out the other window, Taniko saw that another carriage, this one three times the height of a man, ornamented with elaborate scrollwork and magnificent black and gold lacquer panelling, and drawn by two white oxen, was moving majestically towards the gate. Taniko's carriage was right in its path, and one or the other would have to give way.
She knew what was going to happen. It was inevitable. A carriage brawl. Heian Kyo had been notorious for these incidents for hundreds of years. Some of them even took place on the palace grounds.
"The family claims of the occupant of this carriage are ridiculous," said the chamberlain who had stopped them. "Prince Motofusa is the Regent and a Fujiwara."
The Fujiwara. So civilized and so old. And now so envious of the rising, vigorous Takashi who were shouldering them aside, who had cut off the heads of two Fujiwara princes during the rebellions and who even had adopted the old Fujiwara tactic of marrying into the Imperial family. The two most powerful men in Heian Kyo these days were Fujiwara no Motofusa, the Regent, with his high office, his wealth and his ancient family, and Takashi no Sogamori, the chancellor, with his high office and tens of thousands of samurai at his back. Perhaps Motofusa had chosen this moment for a test of strength.
"Come here," Taniko called to the bannerman in the strongest voice she could muster.
The old samurai limped over to Taniko's carriage. The Regent's chamberlain squinted at the curtains to see who else was in the carriage with Sogamori's grandson.
"Under no circumstances are you to back down," said Taniko firmly. "The Regent holds a higher office than this boy, but we are already in the gateway, and it would be unseemly and dishonourable for Lord Sogamori's grandson to back out of the gate. Tell the chamberlain that we would yield place if we had arrived at the gate at the same time as His Highness, but under the circumstances we respectfully beg leave to continue through. Tell him that."
"They're going to fight us, my lady, no matter what we say."
"Then the disgrace will be upon them. Remember, the honour of the house of Takashi is involved."
The bannerman went back to the Fujiwara chamberlain and repeated the message.
"Nonsense!" the chamberlain retorted. He turned to the men holding the oxen. "Push the carriage out of the gateway."
The four men in black were now joined by others carrying naginatas. At the sight of the deadly blades a chill went through Taniko. The police who had been guarding the gate had long since disappeared. Taniko looked over at Motofusa's carriage, which was still slowly advancing. There were at least fifty men in Motofusa's entourage. They were not samurai, but armed courtiers, the remnants of the old army of aristocrats and conscripts that had policed the empire before the rise of the samurai. They didn't really know how to fight, but they knew how to hate, and the small band of Takashi men they faced was unarmed.
The courtiers pushed against the head of the ox, while the banner-man and the Takashi samurai tried to hold the animal where it was. A shoving match broke out. One of the courtiers fell. He rose up shouting curses, his black robe spattered with brown mud. Now the men with naginatas moved forward, holding the long poles with the blade ends sheathed and towards themselves, like fighting sticks. Taniko felt a little relief at this. At least they were not prepared to kill, though it might later come to that.
One courtier swung his pole and caught a samurai on the side of the head. Taniko winced at the thud of the pole against the man's skull. The samurai slowly sank to the ground.
"Kill them! Kill them!" Young Atsue had stuck his head out through the curtains and was cheering the Takashi samurai. Taniko pulled him back. The child had never seen bloodshed, but he was full of stories of glorious Takashi victories over pirates and the Muratomo, and he was wild with the excitement of his first battle.
But the courtiers' naginata poles rose and fell furiously, doing brutal work on the samurai. Several of the samurai were wrestling with the courtiers, trying to get the naginatas away from them. If they did, they would surely start to use the blades.
Then stark terror seized Taniko as, with a sudden rush, the courtiers attacked the carriage itself. A pale face, distorted with rage, shoved itself through the window curtains.
"You will make way for Prince Motofusa, Takashi garbage!"
Atsue struck at the man with the only weapon he had handy, his flute. The man jumped back as the flute thumped against the bridge of his nose.
The carriage began to rock and topple. Taniko screamed and took the boy in her arms as she felt the world giving way around her. She had never known such panic since Horigawa had snatched her newborn daughter from her arms and run off to kill her. Now another child of hers was in danger. She and the boy and all the rich furnishings of the carriage were falling, falling. With a crash that knocked the breath out of her, she landed on a side of the carriage that had now become its bottom. The wooden frame creaked and broke in several places. She looked at Atsue to see if his arms and legs were all right. The boy stared back at her, terrified. He was no longer enjoying the adventure.
The carriage shook under heavy blows. Taniko screamed as she saw a naginata blade bite through the wood. Scrambling to her feet and pulling Atsue with her, she made a dive for the door of the carriage.
She found herself in the centre of the melée. The courtiers were hysterical with rage now, and one seized her and tore at her clothes.
"Here is the bitch who cuckolds Horigawa and-whores for Kiyosi," he screamed. The courtier flung Taniko from him so that she fell into the mud. Others were flailing at the carriage with their naginatas. Eeet trampled her. Wildly she tried to find Atsue.
The boy was struggling with a black-robed courtier, the same man he had struck with his flute. The man was tearing the flute out of Atsue's hands. Getting it away from the screaming child, he broke it over his knee.
"Look!" he shouted to the other courtiers, holding Atsue by the shoulder. "Dress the little rustic bastard in fine clothes and give him lessons on the flute and he thinks he lives above the clouds. Go back to the rice paddies, you vermin!" And he kicked the sobbing Atsue into a mud puddle.
Taniko sprang at the man. She saw a little ceremonial dagger dangling from his black sash by a gold chain. She pulled it loose and drew her arm back to stab the courtier.
Someone seized her from behind and pushed her to one side, firmly but gently. It was the bannerman.
"Don't dirty your hands, my lady." Still unarmed, he gave the courtier who had kicked Atsue a chop against the side of the neck that send him rolling in the dirt, unconscious.
Taniko pulled Atsue into her arms, grabbing him up as she saw a naginata blade slice into the veteran's belly. The old man gave a grunt of pain and fell into the dirt, his blood pooling the ground.
The violet-robed chamberlain who had stopped them stepped forward with a grim smile. "Get out of the way, the rest of you bumpkins, or you'll share his fate."
The overturned carriage was a heap of kindling now. Even its wheels had been chopped to bits. The ox had run off. Contemptuously the courtiers pushed the wreckage to one side of the gateway as the carriage of Regent Motofusa continued its lordly advance.
Taniko knelt in the dirt beside the bannerman. She gagged when she saw his wound. Through his rose-coloured tunic his stomach had been slashed across. There was blood everywhere.
"Don't distress yourself, my lady," the bannerman said. "Don't spoil your pretty cloak with an old man's blood."
The man had survived two great rebellions, a hero, only to die in the mud after a sordid little carriage brawl. "I"m sorry," said Taniko. "I'm so sorry." She pillowed his head on her lap.
"Don't feel bad about me, my lady," the old man said, trying to smile. "I've got the same sort of wound I'd give myself if I'd tried to kill myself in the samurai way."
Taniko raised her head at the rumble of wooden wheels. Far above her the Regent's state carriage lumbered past, a rolling palace. When it went by, she saw Motofusa himself looking out the rear window at her. With his thin, small face and sparse moustache he looked very much like Horigawa. He wore the tall black hat of office. He looked at her with a faint, superior smile.
Defiantly, Taniko met his gaze. By your courtiers' standards it is shameful for me to look you in the eyes, Motofusa, she tried to say with her gaze. But I want you to see the hatred in my eyes, and to show you that your courtiers' world is passing away.
In response to her stare Motofusa's grin broadened, showing teeth dyed black after the fashion of the Court. He closed the curtains of his carriage.
Many of the Takashi samurai lay on the ground, badly beaten. A few appeared to be unconscious. Those on their feet looked angry, frustrated and ashamed, all at once.
Taniko turned to one of them. "Go to Lord Kiyosi. Tell him what has happened, and tell him we will wait for him here."
She looked down at the old samurai whose grizzled head lay in her lap. "Are you in great pain?"
He gave her a smile that was really a grimace. "Of course not, my lady. But I shall not live. You could-do me a great service."
"Anything."
"None of the men is armed. Except you."
"I? I'm not armed." Then she looked down at her hand that was still holding the dagger she had taken from the courtier. "I'll give this to one of the men and he can help you."
The deep-set eyes looked into Taniko's. "I would like you to do it, my lady, if you can bring yourself to. My lord Kiyosi is not here. You stand in his place. It is much to ask, I know."
Taniko hesitated. I must do it well. He must not suffer. I cannot say no. "Yes. You must tell me what to do."
His fingers feebly tapped a spot below his rib cage. "Strike here. As hard as you can. Drive upwards towards the heart."
Taniko raised the gold-hilted ceremonial knife high, gripping it with both hands. Slowly she lowered it till the point touched the place he had indicated. Then she raised the knife again. Am I strong enough?
She said, "Say with me, 'Homage to Amida Buddha.' "
"Homage to Amida Buddha," the old man whispered.
With all her might, not thinking, letting the Self do it, as Jebu would say, she brought the dagger down. She felt it meet flesh, but the force of her thrust and the sharpness of the blade pierced the flesh, and her fists struck against his chest.
She looked down. Please be dead. His eyes were open, and they did not blink. She had done it. She had given him what he asked for. She had stopped his heart. She said again, "Homage to Amida Buddha." Gently, with the index finger of her right hand, she pulled each of his eyelids down. Slowly she eased the grey head to the ground and stood up.
She looked around. A small group of Takashi samurai were standing around her in a circle. When she looked at them, they bowed deeply from the waist. She handed the dagger to one of them and looked around for Atsue.
He was standing beside one of the samurai, clinging to the man's leg. When she turned to him, he took a step back. She held out her arms, but he did not move. She started to go to him.
Terror filled his eyes. "You killed him. There's blood all over you."
She looked down. Her bright yellow cloak was speckled with blood. She hadn't realized the old samurai had bled so much. She felt that she must wash the fear of her from Atsue's eyes, or it would remain there for ever. Determinedly, she strode over to him, took the whimpering boy in her arms and lifted him up.
Kiyosi himself came soon in one of the Takashi's finest Chinese-style carriages. It was surrounded by a hundred Takashi samurai in full armour. Kiyosi gave orders that the body of the bannerman was to be borne in state on a cart to the Rokuhara. He helped Taniko and Atsue into the carriage, climbed in himself, and sat Atsue on his lap. He patted Taniko's hand.
"You and the boy suffer because my father must have more and more power," Kiyosi said sadly. "Motofusa is our enemy because he wants Prince Mochihito, rather than my sister's husband, Prince Takakura, to succeed to the throne. Now we must avenge Motofusa's insult to our family. So it goes on and on."
He was not angry, Taniko saw, just sad and tired. "What is wrong, Kiyosi-san?"
"I have come to realize that I will never know peace. All my life I've been fighting my father's battles, and still there are more battles to fight, and there will never be any end to it as long as I live."
"Give Motofusa a chance to apologize. When he realizes what his people have done, he will probably regret it." Actually, remembering the smug face at the window of the carriage of state, she could not imagine Motofusa apologizing for anything.
Kiyosi shook his head. "My father would accept no apology from Motofusa. And it's not just he. Yukio, the youngest son of Muratomo no Domei, has reappeared. He is raising an army in Kyushu. Our spies say he wants to sail across the sea to fight for the Emperor of China. My father is sure Yukio wants to raise another Muratomo rebellion. So I must go to Kyushu and crush Yukio at once."
Still shaken by the carriage brawl, still stunned by the realization that she had killed a man, Taniko felt a new fear clutch at her heart. "Must you go?"
"I am commander-in-chief of the army. I have advised my father to let Yukio go. All the malcontents in the Sacred Islands would flock to his banner, and we'd be rid of them once and for all. We wouldn't have to lose a man. But my father will not be satisfied unless blood is shed. No victory is real to him unless men die for it." The anger in his face faded and was replaced by a deep weariness.
"Oh, Taniko, I remember Yukio so well-that bright-eyed boy who used to play in the gardens of the Rokuhara. Every time I looked at him I felt a pang, knowing it was I who beheaded his father. I wondered if he knew it, and I wondered what he thought of me. He wasn't much older than our Atsue is now, the first time I saw him. And now my father commands me to bring Yukio's head back to Heian Kyo."
Taniko held his hand while the carriage trundled along and he, in turn, patted Atsue's head. "I'm so tired, Taniko. So tired of it all. How terrible it is that the fighting cannot stop."
From the pillow book of Shima Taniko:
Last night my lord Kiyosi came to me and told me, with no great satisfaction, that the carriage of the Regent Motofusa was attacked by a troop of samurai as his procession was on its way to the Special Eestival at Iwashimizu. The samurai killed eight of Motofusa's retainers, cut the oxen loose from his carriage and drove them off.
Motofusa's carriage was too heavy for his remaining men to pull. He could have waited for more oxen or a palanquin to be brought, but he was afraid for his life, and so he walked home through the streets like any commoner and missed the ceremony. He has thus been publicly shamed.
Since Iwashimizu is one of Hachiman's shrines, and Hachiman is the Muratomo patron, Sogamori thinks that in some obscure way he is hurting the Muratomo. By offending the god of war? This seems to me a dangerous way to get at one's enemies.
Kiyosi brought a new flute for Atsue, a family heirloom called Little Branch, which has been his own favourite flute until now. At least, Kiyosi says, the Regent has paid many times over for the death of our bannerman and the fright he gave our little Atsue. Even the Regent, formerly the most feared official in the land, who once controlled the words and actions of the Emperor, can be chastised by the Takashi.
Each night before I fall asleep, even when I lie in Kiyosi's arms, the face of the man I killed appears in my mind. His dead eyes seem to look at me and not to look at me. And in the darkness and silence of my bedchamber I feel a horror in the pit of my stomach. I have done a dreadful thing. Killed a man. There is blood on my hands and they will never be clean.
More than that, every night I see the look that was in the eyes of my little Atsue after he had seen me stab the bannerman to death. He knows now that his mother can kill. A nine-year-old boy should not have to live with such a memory. I see my own horror at what I have done reflected in his eyes. It is as Jebu told me. We are all part of one Self.
If that is so, the bannerman was I, and I was killing myself. Indeed, he asked me for death. The samurai often kill themselves or ask others to kill them, to avoid capture, mutilation and shame. What I did was not horrible. It was a mercy. Yet, the fact that I have killed another human being fills me with terror, because it is such a vast thing, such a final thing. Whether I have done it for right reasons or for wrong ones, it is taking for myself the powers of a kami. Such an act should be approached with fear, as one approaches a very holy place.
My Jebu - is he still mine after all these years?-has killed and killed again. By now he must have lost count of the numbers he has killed. I was there the first time Jebu killed a man. I remember how he stood looking down at the bodies of those he had killed for a long time after the fight was over. What was he thinking? I wish I could talk to him now.
I've asked Kiyosi how he feels about killing, but he doesn't want to talk about it. He says the part of his mind that thinks about killing is sealed off when he is with me.
How lonely I will be when Kiyosi is gone campaigning in Kyushu.
-Third Month, twelfth day
YEAR OF THE HORSE
One night in the Fourth Month of the Year of the Horse, Yukio, Jebu and Moko sat together in the monks' quarters of the Teak Blossom Temple and said farewell to the members of the Order who had been their hosts for so many months. In the morning their little fleet would embark for China.
Down in the town of Hakata over a thousand men were drinking, coupling, sleeping, writing or pacing about, waiting for dawn to come. At Yukio's summons they had come from all the Sacred Islands, the last, dogged supporters of the Muratomo cause in a realm in which everyone bowed to the Takashi. There were wild men, half Ainu, from northern Honshu; there were hard-bitten warriors from the eastern provinces; there were Shinto and Buddhist military monks from the temples around Heian Kyo; there were near cannibals from southern Kyushu. All of them saw Yukio's summons as a last chance to recoup the fortunes they had lost when the Takashi plundered the realm.
For the farewell to Jebu and Yukio, Abbot Weicho had ordered a hearty meal-the closest the Zinja ever had to a feast. There were raw fish, steamed vegetables, an abundance of rice, and a small jar of heated sake for each of the brothers and their guests. Though the women of the temple did not usually eat with the monks, Nyosan was also present.
They were half-way through the meal when one of the monks escorted a samurai to Yukio. He was one of the guards Yukio had posted some miles from the town.
"Perhaps this should be for your ears alone, Lord Yukio," the samurai said. He was out of breath and clearly tired.
"If it is bad news, tell it to all of us. The more we know, the better prepared we will be."
His calm manner seemed to reassure the samurai, who nodded and said, "It seems the Takashi have learned of your plans, and they mean to prevent you from going. An army of ten thousand men crossed over from Honshu two days ago. They are now less than a day's march from here. They'll be here tomorrow for certain."
"Then they'll arrive too late," said Jebu. "All they'll see will be our ships sailing out of the harbour."
"They may revenge themselves on the townspeople and the monks for helping us," said Yukio.
"Don't worry about that," said Weicho. "We'll protect our own. If need be, we'll teach them that the Order is still to be respected, even if we have lost a few members."
Yukio stood up. "There are still things to be done. I thought something like this might happen, and I have given some thought to preparing for it. I apologize for leaving this feast, Holiness, but there are arrangements I must make in town." With a smile and a bow, the slight figure turned and strode to the door, where he buckled on his dagger and sword and went out.
Before sunrise the next morning the quays of Hakata were alive with the thump of bales and boxes, the clank of weapons and the shouts of young male voices as Yukio's men assembled. In a few hours, according to word from scouts Yukio had sent out, the Takashi army would be upon them.
The warehouse workers sweated in the cool dawn air as they raced to load each ship with provisions for a voyage of ten days. The ten ships were oceangoing galleys designed to carry both passengers and freight. Eight had sails stiffened with bamboo battens to catch any favourable wind that might help the oarsmen. At stem, stern and masthead the ships were bedecked with white Muratomo banners and pennants and streamers bearing the crests of other samurai families joining in the expedition.
As the sky above the hills around Hakata turned a paler blue, the samurai began to board the ships. Some of them bade goodbye to sombre little family groups that had accompanied them this far on their journey. Others, reeling drunk, were half carried to the docks by the women with whom they'd spent their last night on shore.
Long before dawn Nyosan and Jebu made the long downhill walk from the Teak Blossom Temple. Now, dressed in the ankle-length grey robe and black cloak of a woman elder of the Order, Nyosan gazed up at Jebu with shining eyes. Jebu had to bend almost double to put his arms around her and kiss her.
"That such a great, huge man should have come out of a tiny creature like myself," she laughed.
"I will miss you, Mother."
She shook a finger at him. "We have said goodbye too many times in too many ways to feel sadness now. Perhaps you will find your way to the land of your father. I hope, if you do, that it sets your heart at rest."
Jebu looked out past Shiga Island, a sandspit at the tip of the northern arm of the bay, as if trying to see the fabled land that lay to the west. As he looked, a long, dark shape slid past the island. It was followed by another.
A silence fell over the quays. Then a murmur rose as ship after ship appeared in the entrance of the bay. The murmur grew as, oars sweeping rhythmically through the waves, the vessels sailed closer. The bright banners that bedecked the ships became visible. The banners were blood-red.
"We're trapped," said a man near Jebu.
"Might have known the Takashi wouldn't let us leave," said another.
The crowd parted and Yukio strode down to the edge of the water. For the occasion he wore his finest suit of armour, silver-chased with white laces. A silver dragon roared defiance from his helmet. The men watched him closely.
He smiled when he saw the Takashi ships. "They honour our departure with an escort." Some of the men laughed hesitantly.
Yukio stepped to the edge of the pier and raised his arms. Silence fell over the assembled samurai.
"O Hachiman-Yawata, my great-grandfather was known as Hachiman Taro, your firstborn son. Now, in my family's hour of greatest need, I call upon you to give us your aid. Bless our journey across the great water. May we find the good fortune we seek in China. May we return one day, victorious, to this land of the gods."
"May we escape from Hakata Bay to begin with," said Jebu in a low voice, eyeing the Takashi sails.
Hastily, bidding last farewells to those who had come to see them off, the samurai trooped up the gangplanks of their assigned ships. In every man's mind, Jebu thought, there must be the same question: am I really embarking for China, or am I going to die today? Jebu held Nyosan's hand for a moment, and their eyes locked; then he turned abruptly and went to Yukio's ship. On the quay Moko bade a tearful farewell to a woman holding an infant in her arms. At last he tore himself away. Carrying his precious box of carpenter's tools, his Instruments of the Way, he followed Jebu up the gangplank.
Yukio stood on the deck atop the after cabin of his galley. Beside him was his pilot, a grey-haired man in a black tunic who had made the voyage to China and back many times. Around him gathered his armoured captains, each of whom would be responsible for one shipload of samurai. Of them all, Yukio was the smallest figure. Jebu joined the group.
"I've prepared myself in case of an attack by sea," Yukio said. "I have consulted with the local fishermen on the winds and tides in Hakata Bay. I am certain that we can evade the Takashi and escape them."
A growl of dissent came from the other samurai. "Evade them?" said Shenzo Saburo, the samurai who had long ago been in charge of the expedition to rescue Yukio from the Rokuhara. "We don't want to evade them. We want to fight them. Why don't we attack immediately?"
Yukio laughed, a laugh of scorn that reddened Saburo's face. "Oh, well, if you want to fight and die, why go to the trouble of boarding these ships? There are ten thousand more Takashi warriors marching overland against us. If we wait here we can die fighting on our feet instead of floundering in the water."
The commanders shifted uneasily and fingered their sword hilts. Finally Saburo said, "Why not attack the Takashi ships at once and try to break through?"
Smiling, Yukio shook his head. "Our aim is to take this army overseas and win our fortunes in China. I am not going to allow the expedition to be destroyed before we are even out of sight of the Sacred Islands."
The meeting broke up, and the commanders went to their respective ships. Yukio grinned at Jebu and clapped him on the arm. Still smiling, he turned to his pilot and gave the order to sail.
There was a moment of expectant silence. Then the cries went up from the pilots, and the mooring ropes were cast loose. On each ship a drummer raised his wooden sticks and brought them down thunderously on the monkey-leather head of his big taiko. The long white oars flashed through the green water at dockside.
Yukio stood on the afterdeck between the pilot and the two steersmen. Crouched near the rail was a signalman with a bundle of flags. Orders were relayed from Yukio to the pilot to the steersmen. Waving his multi-coloured flags, the signalman passed Yukio's orders to the other ships.
A brisk, salt-smelling breeze blew in from the sea, and a rising tide lapped against the quays. The advantage was with the ships sailing towards shore. The sails of the Muratomo ships were furled and only the arms of the rowers propelled the ships forward.
His bow slung across his back, Jebu leaned against the rail and stared across the wide expanse of water at the dark hulls and yellow sails of the Takashi. How far away they were! How large this bay was! It could hold thousands of ships. It would be a long time before the Muratomo came anywhere near the Takashi. In warfare on land, your enemy was sometimes upon you before you even saw him. At sea he might be visible for hours before the two of you drew close enough to fight.
The taiko on the ten ships rumbled, and Yukio watched the fish-shaped wind vane on the masthead. It pointed inexorably towards Hakata. Huge, puffy clouds sailed eastward across the sky like a fleet of heavy-laden trading vessels. Moko crouched at Jebu's feet, his back to the rail, and closed his eyes, his dogu box in his lap. The samurai drowsed at the rails. Only the men at the oars worked, rows of bare, brown shoulders rhythmically rising and falling. Gradually the Muratomo fleet drew into the centre of the bay. The Takashi ships, their red banners fluttering, were much plainer now, but they had not left their position at the mouth of the bay. Jebu counted thirty of them.
Suddenly Yukio snapped out an order. At the sound of his voice heads turned all over the lead ship. The pilot spoke to the steersman, the signalman and the rowers' overseer. The right bank of oars held steady, while the left bank worked at double the rhythm. A green flag flapped over the signalman's head. The steersmen braced their feet against the rail and pushed at the tiller. Within a few moments the Muratomo fleet had changed course and was steering for the little fishing village of Hakozaki, northernmost of the three towns around the bay.
One by one the Takashi ships changed direction and formed a pursuing column. Everything seems to be happening so slowly, Jebu thought. First we change course, then they react and some of them change course. And we're still hours apart. But every advantage gained at this distance could mean life or death for thousands of men.
He might die today. He sat down on the deck with his back to the rail, took the shintai out of his robe and stared into its fiery core. Slowly he felt strength and calm flow into his veins. The power of the shintai worked as ever. Sitting nearby, Moko watched him.
Jebu stood up to look over the rail at the Takashi ships. A long way off, fifteen of them, a tight little group, came after the Muratomo fleet. Their sails were up, as were the Muratomo sails now, but they were drawing little wind and the oarsmen were still pushing the ships. The Takashi were far behind. The Muratomo oarsmen were fresh, while those rowing for the Takashi had been working for days.
Breakers thundered ahead on the rocks between Hakozaki and Shiga Island. Here and there black boulders jutted up like fangs in the white water. Yukio ordered another change of direction. The Muratomo were sailing parallel to the shore, past Hakozaki and back towards the town of Hakata. The sails of the Muratomo ships boomed, swelling with wind. Now the onshore wind was pushing them. Yukio ordered the oarsmen to rest.
After a time, Yukio gave a whoop and pointed. One of the Takashi ships was slowly toppling over on its side, its sail folding, its mast crashing down, the red banner drooping into the water; soon the crew and fighting men were black dots in the green and white waves. Another of the pursuing ships had come to a dead halt, simply sitting in the waves as its companion ships left it behind, stuck on a sandbar.
"Our pilots know these waters," Yukio laughed. "Their's don't."
Now he snapped another command to his signalman, who leaped to his feet and began waving a red flag and a yellow flag at the other ships. The two steersmen leaned into the tiller. The town of Hakata was still a long distance down the shore when Yukio's fleet changed course again and headed out towards the centre of the bay.
Jebu watched once again the delayed reaction of the enemy craft as one by one they altered their course to continue the pursuit. Then cries from the other side of the ship drew him across the deck.
Through the green, terraced hills behind Hakata, streams of horsemen and foot soldiers were pouring into the town. Red pennons were fluttering on the town's ancient wall. Masses of men were gathering along the quays. The high sun of noon glittered on helmets, armour and naginata blades. Smaller contingents of Takashi appeared on the docks of Hakozaki on the north and Imazu on the southern side of the harbour.
"Now they're going to take fishing boats and come out after us," Yukio said. "I expected this, too."
Even as they watched, Takashi samurai were crowding into every boat along the shore. Doubtless they would force the fishermen to row the boats out. Many of the fishing boats were overcrowded and low in the water.
The thousands of Takashi samurai left behind on shore waved their red banners and shot angry futile arrows into the water in the direction of the Muratomo ships. The waste disgusted Jebu. Samurai had no sense of the value of things.
Now there was no way the Muratomo could land again. They were cut off, committed to fight, to live or die on the water. Fifteen Takashi warships still blocked the harbour's mouth. Thirteen more pursued the Muratomo ships around the bay. And dozens of small craft from Hakata, Hakozaki and Imazu, their gunwhales bristling with Takashi samurai like teeth in the mouth of a shark, formed a long sprawling line cutting across the Muratomo course.
The pilot spoke to Yukio and pointed upwards. The wind vane on his ship had changed direction. Now the fish's head was pointing straight at the mouth of the harbour and beyond that to the open sea.
Yukio turned to the pilot. "Is the tide running out?" The grey-haired pilot grinned and nodded.
"Then Hachiman is with us," Yukio exulted. "It is time to say goodbye to our Takashi friends. We've shown them the beauties of Hakata Bay long enough. Now we leave for China. Up all sails. Rowers, row your hearts out. Head for the open sea!"
The signalman's flags blossomed on the afterdeck. In a moment the Muratomo fleet had made another course change. Now they were charging at top speed directly at the Takashi blockade.
The Takashi vessels, so distant for so long, now loomed larger. Faint cries came from the men on their decks. A few impetuous arrows arched towards the Muratomo ships and fell short, into the waves.
Yukio shouted to the captain in the nearest Muratomo ship, "Aim for the steersmen and rowers only! Don't bother with samurai! Pass the word!" He gripped Jebu's arm and pulled him to the rail.
"Come on. Our men think it's unworthy to shoot anyone lower in rank than a samurai. Let's set an example."
The column of Muratomo ships aimed for the head of the Takashi line. Takashi vessels were pulling out of formation and rushing to crowd in upon the Muratomo as Yukio's ship raced across the bow of the leading enemy galley. Yukio drew back on his samurai bow, as tall as himself, and a fourteen-hand arrow with a humming-bulb head screamed through the air to strike the throat of a steersman on the lead Takashi ship. Yukio had used the noise-making arrowhead to call the attention of his men to the target he had chosen.
Jebu's bow twanged and the steersman's companion collapsed over the tiller. A shame to kill unarmed seamen, but it would mean less bloodshed in the long run.
Yukio loosed two more arrows among the Takashi rowers. Out of control, the ship began to roll and flounder. Arrows fired by the Takashi samurai whistled over Jebu's head.
One armoured man on the other ship was leaping over the oarsmen, scrambling for the foredeck, holding his long bow high over his head. Standing in the bow of the ship, he braced himself, legs apart, and aimed an arrow at Yukio. The man was bare-headed. In the instant that it took Jebu to jerk a blunt-headed armour-piercing arrow from his quiver, he saw a darkly handsome face with a small moustache. The arrow struck the Takashi samurai square in the chest. He dropped his bow, toppled slowly over the railing of the ship and fell into the sea. When the splash subsided, he was gone.
"I told you not to bother with samurai," Yukio shouted. Jebu started to explain that the warrior had been about to shoot Yukio, when a wail from beside them interrupted him. It was Moko, clinging to the railing, staring at the place where the Takashi samurai had gone down. He turned tearful eyes to Jebu.
"Accursed am I, that I should have seen this. Years ago that man saved my life. I will never forget his face. He was the only man in the world besides you, shiké, to whom I could truly say I owed my life. And now you have killed him."
"He was aiming at Lord Yukio."
"I do not reproach you, shiké. I only say that war is the evillest thing I know, and I hate it."
They were past the Takashi line now. The ocean, blue-grey and limitless, lay ahead. Behind them, two more Muratomo ships were pushing through the blockade. More Takashi ships closed in. Flights of arrows whistled in both directions. Again the Takashi ships wallowed, disabled, and the Muratomo ships shot by them.
Moko told Yukio and Jebu of the day Domei was executed, and how Kiyosi had seen him hiding in the tree above the Emperor's head and had not denounced him.
"Of course," said Yukio. "I would have recognized him if I'd been looking in his direction. I saw him often, especially during the years I lived at the Rokuhara. How strange karma is. On the very day that Kiyosi spared your life, he beheaded my father."
"I saw him do it," said Moko. "But also, Lord Yukio, I saw him weep after he did it."
"That doesn't surprise me. He was always kind to me. He never said he was sorry that he killed my father; it would, not have been proper for us to speak of that. But somehow I knew he did it because it was his duty, and I never held it against him. Just as it was his duty to aim an arrow at me just now. I hold others to blame for my father's death. Sogamori, Horigawa."
"So that was Kiyosi," said Jebu. "Years ago I shot at him, but it wasn't his karma to die that day. I have heard nothing but good of him. I am sorry that he died by my hand." Gripping the rail and bowing his head, Jebu mentally recited the Prayer to a Fallen Enemy with greater fervour than he had felt in years.
A Takashi vessel slammed up against the side of a Muratomo ship trying to break through the blockade. Takashi samurai leaped over the rails. Swords clashed. The decks of both ships were a jumble of fighting men. But two more Muratomo ships cut through to the open ocean.
Yukio gave orders to his signalman. In a few moments the Muratomo craft that had broken the blockade were sailing parallel to the line of Takashi warships, arrows devastating the enemy crews. More Muratomo ships came through. Clouds of arrows fell on the Takashi ships while their samurai, shouting challenges and insults, stood at the rails, futilely waving their swords.
Jebu looked past the crumbling blockade. The other Takashi ships and the commandeered fishing boats from Hakata had joined forces and were sailing towards the harbour entrance in hot pursuit of the Muratomo.
A bright flash caught Jebu's eye. Elames leaped up on a fishing vessel. The men on it were jumping overboard. Ribbons of fire sprang up all over the fishing boats. The flames spread to the Takashi warships.
"What's that? More of your planning ahead?"
Yukio nodded. "It was easy to foresee that the Takashi would commandeer boats to come after us. So, aboard the boats today were, not the local fishermen, but Muratomo samurai dressed as fishermen. When the fishing boats were mixed in with the Takashi fleet, my men set fire to them and jumped overboard."
A few of the Takashi ships seemed to have escaped, but the mouth of the harbour was now blocked by a great ball of fire, as if a piece of the sun had fallen into it. Takashi samurai splashed briefly in the water before their armour pulled them under. One of the fishing boats, manned by Muratomo men, darted here and there, pulling the unarmoured Muratomo survivors out of the water. When they had all been pulled in, the boat followed after the Muratomo fleet. Yukio's ship fell behind to meet it.
Yukio ran amidships and helped pull wet, naked men from the fishing boat. "Marvellous!" he shouted. "Splendid! Let sake be brought for these men at once. They're cold from their swim."
Looking aft, all Jebu could see was rolling clouds of black smoke and a jumble of burning ships. Then his eyes narrowed. Two ships were coming after them. One, judging by its lines, was a Muratomo transport, while the other appeared to be a Takashi warship. He caught Yukio's arm.
"Look."
Yukio laughed wildly. "Look again." There were white banners waving from both ships. Jebu remembered the two ships that had come together and the masses of samurai locked in hand-to-hand combat. Evidently the Muratomo had won.
"We have eleven ships now instead of ten," said Yukio. "A gift from the Takashi." He suddenly seized Jebu violently by both arms and shook him with a strength surprising for such a small man.
"China, Jebu! China! A whole new world for us! Let the Takashi perish in the nine hells. The future is ours."
Yukio laughed again. "Out to sea," he called to the pilot. "Take us to China." The signal flags flapped, and the Muratomo vessels turned away from the mouth of the harbour and set their course westwards. All sails were up, and all rattled as the strong wind from the east took them.
Yukio's feverish gaiety subsided. "If only we hadn't killed Kiyosi. That takes some of the joy out of this victory for me, Jebu-san. He was the wisest of all the Takashi, the best fighter, the noblest lord. In killing him we've dealt the Takashi a blow from which they may never recover. Still, I would rather he had lived, if karma allowed it."
Jebu shrugged. "It was his day to die. I'm sure he was as ready and willing as you and I are. And he was trying to kill you."
"You saved my life. Again. I am in your debt for ever." Yukio gripped Jebu's upper arm, hard. "But it's a great sadness, not just for Kiyosi's sake. His death harms others for whom I care. There was a woman, Kiyosi's woman. She was very good to my mother and me. Remember I told you how my mother became Sogamori's mistress to save my life? Well, this lady acted as a go between, for no other reason than her affection for my mother. And she suffered for it. Her husband was Prince Sasaki no Horigawa, who wanted Hideyori and me dead. He punished his wife by- Why are you staring at me?"
Jebu's body went cold. Even now, he reminded himself, the secret must be kept. He made himself assume a calm expression.
"This lady. Was her name Shima Taniko?"
"Yes, that was she. Did you know her?"
"Long ago," Jebu said, waving his hand as if it were of no consequence. "I'll tell you about it some time."
"She had a baby by Kiyosi, a son, while I was at the Rokuhara. I suppose he'd be about nine by now. Another son whose father has been torn from him. Moko is right. War is an evil thing."
Yukio turned away and began to walk among the men on his ship, praising them, even talking to the rowers and patting their shoulders. Then he called for a small boat so he could visit the other ships. A dinghy was lowered over the side, and Yukio leaped into it with the astonishing, easy grace that Jebu had first seen seven years ago on the Gojo Bridge.
Jebu walked along the deck to the forecastle and stood staring into the empty blue sky. His eyes burned and his cheeks were wet.
Why am I crying? he thought. If I hadn't killed Kiyosi my friend would be dead now.
Instead, another son has lost his father. As Yukio did. As I did.
Another woman has lost the man she loved, as my mother did.
He had never wanted to know what Taniko was doing. Only once had he asked, when Moko told him what happened at Daidoji. That had been the worst moment of his life. He had never asked about her, because it hurt too much. Hardly the attitude of a true Zinja.
What if he had known what Kiyosi was to her? Would he have hesitated to kill him? Or would jealous hatred have gone winging along with his arrow?
No, he had never wanted to invade her life. Even when Domei said he was sending men to kill Horigawa, his first thought had been that he must not go. How much less would he want to kill this Kiyosi. After all, he himself had given her nothing.
He didn't really know how much Kiyosi had meant to her. He might just have been a protector, someone to whom she could escape from Horigawa. Or he might have been a true lover, a man who had made her cry out with delight in the darkness, as she had wanted to, -but never could with Jebu.
Whatever she shared with him, Jebu had reached out from all this distance, after all this time, and destroyed it. Just by letting go of a string that propelled an arrow. Such a little thing. So easy to kill a man, end his whole life and whatever it meant, perhaps destroy many other lives at the same moment.
But even if he'd known what he was doing, he'd have done it anyway, to save Yukio.
Why was he crying? Because he'd done an evil thing? But a Zinja was beyond good and evil. A Zinja was always aware of his own perfection.
From a dark chamber in his memory a voice whispered, The Zinja are devils. He had not thought of the Saying of Supreme Power in years.
Was this what it meant? That in trying to do good the Zinja did evil, and then tried to tell themselves it didn't matter, that good and evil were the same thing? If war was an evil thing, as he had been shown today, and the Zinja were devoted to war, then truly they were devils.
He had hurt Taniko. Had hurt her child. And there was no way he could undo it. He couldn't even want to undo it, because the only other choice would have meant the death of his friend.
He wondered if she would ever hear a description of the man who killed Kiyosi. He wondered if she would realize that it was he.
The sun had crossed the sky and now hovered, white hot, ahead of the Muratomo fleet. It paved a road of dazzling white jewels in the sea before them. Somewhere at the end of that glittering pathway lay the land of his father, the empire of the Mongols. Perhaps he would actually see the land where his father was born and meet again his father's killer.
And perhaps, too, the great distances would help him forget for a time that small, white, lovely face that had haunted him ever since that journey down the Tokaido.
With trembling fingers he reached into his robe for the Jewel of Life and Death.
Because men suffer, they fight and kill one another. The innocent, who begin by fighting to defend themselves against robbers and murderers, become robbers and murderers themselves. Someone must protect them, both from what happens to them and from what they become. It is our hope that we can take upon ourselves the duty of necessary fighting and killing. We think we can be trusted.
Summer came to Heian Kyo. The screens and lattices of houses were opened to the air as the days grew longer and the nights warmer. Rain and sun alternated to deepen the green of the huge old willows that grew along the avenues and canals. Moon and fireflies lit the night. Taniko found that she missed Kiyosi terribly. She wanted to share this beauty with him. Unable to talk to him, she wrote poems, two or three a day, and imagined herself reading them to him.
The sun warms the wind,
The wind strokes the willows,
The willows reach down to caress the river.
She had little to record in her pillow book. She liked to write about the gossip of palace and Court, the problems of the country's rulers, the struggles of powerful men. About all this, she had heard in abundance from Kiyosi. Since he had sailed south to Kyushu her life had been one of isolation, monotony and boredom. It was no consolation to her that it was the same for almost all women of her station, except the few lucky enough to have duties at Court. She had no idea how other women managed to tolerate such lives.
Her one source of daily joy was the companionship of Atsue. The boy had quite forgotten his horror at seeing his mother stab a man to death, and the two spent hours together every day. Atsue was growing to look more and more like his grave, square-jawed father. Every fifth day she took him by carriage to the Buddhist temple on Mount Hiei for lessons on the flute and koto with a famous master. Daily she listened to his practice on these instruments. She finally convinced him the samisen was worth learning and gave him lessons herself. Kiyosi had taught him go, saying that every samurai should play the game well, and Taniko played it with Atsue night after night. She took him for walks through the garden, teaching him the names of summer herbs and flowers. Late in the evening, just before he went to bed, they would sit and watch the moon rise. Atsue would play on his flute just for pleasure, and his playing was often so beautiful it brought tears to her eyes.
A strange silence fell over the Shima household in the middle of the Fifth Month. Taniko's maids seemed nervous and chattered less than usual while helping her dress and undress. There was something furtive in the way her aunt and cousins greeted her in the women's quarters and hurried past on business of their own. Ryuichi's oldest son, Munetoki, now a fierce young samurai of nineteen, had gone off with Kiyosi's expedition to hunt down the last of the Muratomo. Uncle Ryuichi seemed to have disappeared completely. When she asked about him, Aunt Chogao said he had gone on a long journey by sea to Yasugi on the west coast. Yasugi, Taniko knew, was a stronghold for the pirates who preyed on the Korean coast and shipping. All her life she had been hearing rumours that her family was involved with pirates; this seemed to confirm it.
One afternoon a servant announced that the first secretary to Lord Takashi no Sogamori was in the main hall and had asked to visit her. She felt a little leap of pleasure. She had not had a letter from Kiyosi in nearly a month. She hurriedly prepared herself with her maid's help, set out the screen of state in her chamber and sent her maid for Sogamori's secretary.
She immediately noticed the willow-wood taboo tag tied to the secretary's black head-dress and dangling down the side of his face. She wondered if the evil that beset him was a personal misfortune or something that had fallen upon the entire house of Takashi. It would not be polite to enquire. It was surprising that a man under taboo would even leave his house. He must consider the visit essential.
She had never seen the man before, but she recognized the type. His prim manner and old-fashioned, slightly tattered robe and trousers proclaimed him a Confucian scholar. Doubtless a man of good family whose declining fortunes had forced him to go into service with a rising clan like the Takashi.
They exchanged greetings, the secretary peering nervously at the screen as if trying to see through it. He wants a look at the famous lady who delights Kiyosi, she thought.
At last the secretary said, "Lord Sogamori has sent me to you to inform you of his wishes."
"I am honoured," said Taniko. "But I had hoped you might have a message for me from Lord Kiyosi." Through the openings near the top of the screen she could see that the man's eyes had widened in surprise-and possibly fear-at the mention of Kiyosi's name.
"There was no message," he said hastily. "Lord Kiyosi sent no message." There was something in his voice that frightened Taniko. "What is it then?" she said. "What are you doing here?"
"Lord Sogamori desires that his grandson be sent to him."
The secretary's words surprised Taniko and intensified the dread she felt. "For how long?"
Again the secretary seemed surprised. "Why, for the rest of his life, my lady. Lord Sogamori wants to give the boy the Takashi name and adopt him as his own son."
"His son? But he is Lord Kiyosi's son. He, if anybody, should adopt him."
"My lady," the secretary said, then stopped. He seemed at a loss for words. At last he blurted out, "A dead man cannot adopt a child."
It was as if he had plunged a sword into her body. She sat paralysed, impaled on his words. At last, as the numbness of shock faded away, she began to feel pain and struggled to free herself.
"No, no, he is not dead. Someone would have told me. You can't come here and say that he is dead. I would have known about it if something had happened. You're wrong. You must be mistaken."
Even as she denied his words, it struck her with overwhelming force: Kiyosi had been killed in the fighting in Kyushu, and no one had told her.
The secretary blushed a deep scarlet. "Don't you know what happened, my lady?"
"I have heard nothing. Surely I would have heard if anything had happened to Lord Kiyosi."
Again the man seemed to grope for words. "Then I-I must tell you? How unfortunate. But seemingly it falls to me to do this duty where others have failed." He drew himself up and composed himself into a picture of Confucian rectitude. "My lady, it grieves me greatly to be the bearer of this news. Six days ago, we received word that there had been a great sea battle at Hakata Bay. The rebellious Muratomo forces were trying to escape. My lord Kiyosi was on the flagship of the Takashi fleet. During the fighting he was struck in the chest by an armour-piercing arrow. Those who were near say he died instantly. One arrow, no pain. His body fell into the sea and disappeared immediately. He is gone, my lady. He died faithfully carrying out his father's orders. You may take pride in that."
Taniko heard the man out. Then she stood up.
The next thing she knew, she was lying on the floor, her maid kneeling beside her, wiping her face with a damp cloth. She struggled to sit up. The screen was knocked over, and the Takashi family secretary was standing in a corner of the room with his face politely averted.
Then it came back to her. Kiyosi was dead.
She looked up at the maid, one of the women who had come with her to Heian Kyo years ago. The maid was crying.
"You knew," said Taniko. "You knew days ago and you didn't tell me."
"I could not, my lady," the maid sobbed. "I could not bear to be the one. Why should it have to be me?"
In spite of the shock of grief, Taniko's mind was still working. "Set up the screen." The first thing she must do was get rid of this man with his talk of taking Atsue. When the screen was raised, Taniko composed herself and sat behind it.
"Please tell Lord Sogamori that I am overwhelmed with gratitude at his offer to adopt the boy Atsue. However, with the greatest respect, the Takashi family has no obligation to do anything for either Atsue or me. Atsue is my son, and it is my desire that he stay with me."
The secretary stared. "My lady, the boy is Lord Kiyosi's son. Lord Sogamori has lost his own son, his eldest-the son he loved best in the world. He wants his grandson. You cannot deny him."
It was agony to sit upright, agony to hold her voice to a soft, polite tone, agony to speak at all. She clenched her hands in her lap, digging the fingernails of one into the back of the other. "I am very sorry, but Lord Sogamori has other children and grandchildren. I have only Atsue. I am sure he would not want to take my only child from me."
"Excuse me, Lady Taniko, but this is most unwise. You only bring more suffering upon yourself. Lord Sogamori is the most powerful man in the Sacred Islands."
"My son does not belong to Lord Sogamori. I do not belong to Lord Sogamori. I have nothing more to say."
His mouth drawn down, the secretary left her. Taniko sat without moving for as long as she could, while her grief welled up inside her until she felt it would tear her apart. She began to gasp like a deer with an arrow in its chest. Her gasps became sobs. At last she screamed. She threw herself full length on the floor, tearing at her robes and beating upon the polished floor with her fists.
Her maids rushed in and tried to hold her. She struck them away. Drawing her body into a knot, she shrieked and wept.
Atsue came in. Horrified at the sight of his mother, he turned to the maids, who stood whimpering and wringing their hands.
"What's happened to my mother?"
Still sobbing, Taniko pulled herself to a sitting position. Thank Amida Buddha I can be the first to tell him, she thought. At least he won't get the news from some servant. She reached out and pulled the boy to her, fighting for breath, trying to get her voice under control.
"Your father has-left us. He has gone to the Pure Land. He died in battle at sea off Kyushu. I have just heard it."
"Oh no, Mother, no, no, no." The boy's arms tightened around her neck until she thought he would break it. But she endured the small pain gladly. She had only Atsue to live for.
For hours they cried together in each other's arms.
In the evening the maids brought food to them. Taniko could not eat. She watched Atsue pick at the small slivers of fish with his chopsticks. In his green silk tunic and black trousers he looked like a replica of Kiyosi.
Why didn't they chop me to bits with swords and be done with it? Taniko thought. How long could she feel this pain before she went mad?
"Homage to Amida Buddha." Taniko started to recite the invocation. Atsue put down his chopsticks and joined her.
After the maid took away their dishes, Ryuichi pushed back the screen to Taniko's chamber and peered in at them. His face was pale. In the dim corridor he looked like a goldfish trying to see up through the surface of a pond. Taniko, murmuring the homage to Buddha, looked back at him.
"You never went to Yasugi, Uncle."
"Forgive me, Taniko-san. I remembered how you were when Horigawa brought you here. I couldn't bear to see you like that again."
"So, instead of telling me yourself, you mercifully allowed one of Sogamori's lackeys to give me the news by accident."
"Do not torment me, Taniko-san."
"Ah, are you the one who is being tormented? I see. Well, don't stand there in the doorway like a frightened peasant. Sit down with us."
Ryuichi snapped his fingers at a maid. "Sake." Still looking apologetically at Taniko, he sat down.
Taniko said, "Atsue, go to your bedchamber. I have something to discuss with your uncle."
"Why can't I hear? I'm the head of our family now."
The words brought Taniko a renewed realization of her loss. She burst into a storm of weeping, 'While Ryuichi sat looking sadly at her. Atsue crept into her arms.
The maid brought hot sake. Taniko poured for Ryuichi and herself. "All right," she said. "You will also have to decide what you want, Atsue-chan." Atsue did not object to the term of endearment for a child. "Stay and listen." The boy sat down again, facing his mother and his uncle. She turned to Ryuichi. "Sogamori has asked that I send the boy to him. He wants to take him from me and adopt him, make him a Takashi."
Ryuichi nodded. "This afternoon I received a summons to the Rokuhara. Of course, it was worded as an invitation. What did you say to Sogamori's secretary?"
"I refused. I want Atsue to stay with me."
Ryuichi quickly drained another cup of sake. "You refused?"
"Yes. But Atsue must be the one to decide in the end."
"Children do not decide their futures," Ryuichi cut in. "Of course he will want to stay with his mother. But he has no idea of what he would lose. What can you give him that would compare with the station in life he would have as Sogamori's son?"
"Kiyosi gave Sogamori other grandsons, and Kiyosi's younger brothers still live," said Taniko. "Why must Sogamori, who has so much, take this child from me?" Tears ran down her cheeks.
Ryuichi shrugged. "Aside from the late Kiyosi, Sogamori's male descendants are a rather undistinguished lot. This boy, on the other hand, is a paragon. Perhaps it is because you and Kiyosi enjoyed some powerful bond in a former life. You must be aware that Atsue's musicianship and his knowledge of the classics are remarkable. And his face-" Ryuichi sipped his sake and contemplated the boy. Atsue, his eyes downcast, flushed a deep scarlet. That's one trait he gets from me, Taniko thought.
Ryuichi went on. "Anyone who knows anything about physiognomy can see Atsue has the face of one destined to hold a high place in the realm. In all respects, even at this young age, Atsue outshines Sogamori's other descendants. That cannot have escaped you, Taniko. Be sure that Sogamori himself is well aware of it."
Taniko turned to the boy. "Atsue-chan, what your uncle says is true. You can become an important member of the most powerful clan in the land. If you remain here, you'll merely be a fatherless boy, part of a rather undistinguished provincial family."
"I want to stay with you, Mother," Atsue said instantly. "I love you, and you love me. I am afraid of Lord Sogamori. They say he is cruel and has a terrible temper. I don't want to live in the Rokuhara. I don't like the Rokuhara."
"This is not childish prattle," said Taniko. "The boy knows perfectly well what he is saying."
"We dare not defy Lord Sogamori," Ryuichi muttered.
"If Sogamori can take a child from us, he can take anything and everything from us."
That thought made Ryuichi frown. "But there is nothing I can do. What can I say to Lord Sogamori at the Rokuhara tomorrow?"
"You are a samurai, Uncle, as much as he is. You can present the case to him and let him make what he will of it. When you go to the Rokuhara, tell Sogamori that the boy does not want to go and his mother does not want to send him."
"Madness," said Ryuichi.
"Uncle-san," said Taniko, the tears coming again, "My champion is dead. You are the only defender I have left. If you won't protect me, I am lost."
Shaking his head, Ryuichi rose. "I will do what I can. Drink more sake. It will help you to sleep."
It was a sweltering morning when Ryuichi went to the Rokuhara. Alone, sweating and trembling in his carriage, he fanned himself incessantly. Six armed, mounted men escorted him, but their presence did nothing to make him feel more secure. He was going, perhaps, to his death. What else could he expect if he disobeyed the command of Lord Sogamori, who could annihilate him as a careless sandal crushes an ant?
The Rokuhara was at once magnificent and frightening. Its three donjon towers, bedecked with proud red Takashi banners, dominated the surrounding district. Ryuichi saw them as soon as his carriage crossed the Gojo Bridge. The stone outer walls with their tile-roofed turrets were taller than those around the Imperial Palace. The walls girdled a spacious park bounded by four avenues. Three streams diverted from the Kamo River fed the moat, itself wide as a river, and ran through the park over beds of carefully chosen pebbles, beneath tiny ornamental bridges. Interior walls divided the grounds into parade fields, gardens and gravelled courts. The main buildings of the Rokuhara were imposing structures in the Chinese style, with red and green tiled roofs. Mixed in among these were a Buddhist temple, a Shinto shrine and many stables.
The Takashi headquarters was across the Kamo River, east of the original limits of Heian Kyo, outside the city's walls. The land had been given to Sogamori's grandfather after a victory over pirates on the Inland Sea. In those days the Takashi estate was out in the countryside. Over the years, with each new acquisition of power and wealth, the stronghold grew, as a coral reef rises out of the sea. At the same time the capital spread eastwards, and now the Rokuhara was surrounded by innumerable lesser buildings, like a black rock in a swiftly moving current.
It was palace, fortress, barracks and prison all in one. Between the samurai quartered within its walls and those who lived near by with families and retainers of their own, the Takashi could call up ten thousand warriors at a moment's notice.
Even after crossing the moat and passing through the fortified western gate, Ryuichi travelled a long time through a labyrinth of inner walls before he finally came to the hall where Sogamori awaited him. Ryuichi dismounted and dismissed his outriders, who looked thoroughly cowed now that they were in the Takashi stronghold. A group of Sogamori's red-robed youths eyed Ryuichi's party with a threatening casualness.
Approached by two Takashi samurai, Ryuichi tried to appear calm and superior, a difficult feat for a sweating, trembling fat man. Despite their deferential manner, the hard-faced warriors frightened him. The Shima were supposedly samurai themselves, but Ryuichi was more at home with ink, brush and account books than with bow and sword. He allowed the guards to lead him to Sogamori.
The chieftain of the Takashi clan, dressed in a billowing white silk robe, sat on a raised platform, a naked sword in his lap. His round skull was completely shaved; he had entered the priesthood several years earlier after a nearly fatal illness. Behind him, brightly lit by oil lamps, hung an enormous gold banner bearing an angry Red Dragon, its eyes blazing, claws extended, wings flapping, the scaly body, coil upon coil, seeming about to leap out of golden silk and destroy all in the room.
Ryuichi was grateful for the excuse to fall on his knees and press his forehead to the cedar floor. He was shaking so violently he felt he could no longer stand. Why did Sogamori have a sword in his lap? Was it for him?
"You are welcome here, Shima no Ryuichi," said Sogamori in his grating voice. Ryuichi looked up. The lines of Sogamori's broad face were deep and shadowed. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot. The man must have been weeping for days, Ryuichi thought. There were tears glistening on Sogamori's brown cheeks even now.
Below the platform, to Sogamori's right and left, sat the men of his family. The place just below and to the left, where Kiyosi had always sat, was occupied by Sogamori's second son, Notaro, his puffy, white-powdered features drooping with a faint boredom. Beside Notaro sat the third son, Tadanori, a famous dandy and poet, but not known to be good at much else. Sogamori's other sons by his principal wife and his other wives sat facing each other in two rows leading up to the platform. Dullards, weaklings, and fops, thought Ryuichi. Other nobles, favourites of Sogamori, sat around the room. With surprise, Ryuichi recognized Prince Sasaki no Horigawa, smiling and gently fanning himself.
Sogamori took a sheet of paper from his sleeve. "We have been reading my son's poems, Ryuichi-san. This is the last one he wrote, aboard ship on his way to Kyushu.
The shadow of the sail is my palace, These cedar planks my bed,
My host, a seagull.
"Exquisite," Ryuichi whispered, dry-mouthed. Sogamori sighed and wiped his face with his sleeve. In the silence Ryuichi thought how Taniko would love to have one of Kiyosi's poems. But it was obvious Taniko had no friends here. Horigawa waved his fan before his face and smiled his secretive smile at Ryuichi.
Sogamori raised the sword, holding it by its gold and silver-mounted hilt. The blade glistened in the lamplight. It was sharply curved and double-edged for more than half its length.
"His sword," said Sogamori. "Kogarasu. He didn't want to risk losing it at sea, so he left it behind. If he had worn it, it would have gone down with him to the bottom of Hakata Bay. Kogarasu once belonged to our ancestor, Emperor Kammu, who received it from the priestess of the Grand Isle Shrine. I gave it to my son when he cut his hair and tied it in the topknot."
Ryuichi bowed his head. "The grief of your house is the grief of my house."
A silence fell. Sogamori studied Kogarasu, turning the sword this way and that to catch the light on its shadowy temper lines. Wrapping his white silk sleeve around his hand, he polished the blade lovingly. Gently, as if cradling a sleeping baby, he laid the sword in his lap.
"I am told that your own son, Munetoki, is well and is on his way home to you," said Sogamori softly. "I hear he performed bravely in the battle at Hakata Bay. The joy of your house is the joy of my house."
Was there irony in Sogamori's tone? "A thousand years would not be enough time for me to express my gratitude to the chancellor for noticing my son," said Ryuichi, bowing deeply.
"Can the Shima not control their women?" Sogamori whispered harshly. At the sudden change of tone Ryuichi's innards froze with terror.
"Your miserable servant begs forgiveness if we have offended," he mumbled, bowing his head.
"If you have offended?" Sogamori growled. "You should be ashamed to show your face before me, Ryuichi. You should have thrown yourself into the Kamo on the way here."
"She is overcome with grief," Ryuichi pleaded. "She does not know what she is saying."
Horigawa spoke. "I have warned my lord Sogamori that the woman is both wilful and wicked."
Ryuichi was outraged. He wanted to cry out, to demand that Horigawa apologize. The Shima family was being insulted here. But he remained silent. He was too frightened to speak.
Sogamori held up the sword again. "This will belong to Atsue when he performs his manhood ceremony as a Takashi."
"We are overwhelmed by my lord's offer to adopt the boy Atsue," Ryuichi said. "Only, we plead for time. The boy's mother is so newly bereaved."
"Do you compare her suffering with mine?" Sogamori rasped. "What was she to my son but another courtesan? What right does she have to mourn? We will have the boy here today."
The realization that he would have to face Taniko drove Ryuichi to make one last effort. "But she is the boy's mother. She loves him."
"She is still married to me," Horigawa cut in. "By law I am the boy's father. I say he shall go to Lord Sogamori."
Ryuichi stared at Horigawa, astonished.
"Thus the woman is no obstacle, Ryuichi-san," said Sogamori.
"I have a further thought, Your Excellency," said Horigawa. "To ensure that she is kept under proper control, I shall take her back into my household." He turned to Ryuichi and bared his blackened teeth. "You have borne the burden of caring for her long enough."
Ryuichi was overcome with horror. She'll kill herself, he thought. "No, no, that will not be necessary."
"Let her be taken to Horigawa's house at the same time Atsue comes here." Sogamori laughed mirthlessly. "Peace will be restored to Ryuichi's household."
Horigawa said, "My journey to China on Your Excellency's behalf will be an arduous one. It may be a year or more before I return. I will need the companionship and help of a wife. I have so immersed myself in my duties that I have not had time to seek one. On this voyage I shall have to make do with the one I-have."
But Taniko hates you, Ryuichi thought. You killed her baby daughter, now you are helping to steal her son. Merciful Buddha, she has lost Kiyosi, and now she will lose Atsue. And then to fall into the hands of Horigawa again-she will surely go mad.
"Yukio has escaped to China after killing my son," Sogamori brooded. "Well, there is one Muratomo on whom I can avenge myself. Listen, Ryuichi."
Ryuichi shrank back. "Yes, my lord."
"Send your swiftest messenger to your brother Shima Bokuden in Kamakura. Tell him the Imperial chancellor finds the continued existence of Muratomo no Hideyori a danger to the serenity of the realm. He is commanded to execute Hideyori immediately. I want the head brought back to me by the same messenger."
If only Bokuden were here, Ryuichi thought. He would know what to do. In the midst of all his anguish, the prospect of Hideyori's death troubled Ryuichi least of all. Hideyori had never brought any good to the Shima house, and Yukio had destroyed their entire little world. Ryuichi had no tears to spare for the Muratomo.
"As you wish, my lord."
Horigawa said, "The other Muratomo will not escape your wrath in China, Your Excellency. Through me, your vengeance will follow him to the Central Kingdom."
"Prince Horigawa is a remarkable man, Ryuichi-san," said Sogamori. "He is small in body, but within that small head of his is encompassed the entire Chinese language, not only all its literary classics but all its terms of trade and warfare. The prince can equally well address the Sung Emperor or bandy words with the lowliest sailor on the docks. The messages he carries to China and the information he brings back will be precious to me. If he needs your niece, he must have her."
"I understand, my lord," Ryuichi quavered.
"I will send a carriage with you for the boy, Ryuichi-san. Do not let your family trouble me again."
Horigawa rose. "I will go along myself, with my own carriage, to bring my wife back to my house." He bowed to Sogamori. "Would His Excellency be pleased to send some of his samurai with us as an escort?"
"Tell the captain of the guard to assign twenty outriders to you." Filled with despair, Ryuichi bowed, turned and shuffled out of Sogamori's presence.
Taniko and Atsue were playing go when they heard the carriages and mounted men come rumbling through the gate of the Shima mansion. Atsue's hand, about to place a white stone in a move that threatened a whole line of Taniko's black stones in a corner, hesitated in mid air. He put the white stone down slowly, and they sat and looked at each other.
The returning party made much more noise than Uncle Ryuichi and his outriders had on leaving, as if there were more horses, perhaps more carriages, with him now. The nervousness Taniko had felt all morning turned to dread. Pushing the go table aside, she took Atsue in her arms.
After a time, the shoji screen to her chamber slid back, and Aunt Chogao's tear-streaked face appeared in the opening. One look, and Taniko's fear turned to a wild, despairing terror. Her aunt shook her head helplessly.
"Your uncle wants Atsue in the main hall."
Taniko kept her arms around the boy. "If he wants Atsue he will have to come and tear him from me."
Sobbing, Chogao left. Atsue was crying in Taniko's arms. She patted the small shoulder beneath the dark green robe.
"Mother, kill me like you killed that man, and then kill yourself. We'll meet Father in the Pure Land."
Taniko bit her lip. "You have a long life before you, Atsue-chan. I would rather lose you than harm you in any way. And even in the worst moments of my own life I've never wanted to kill myself. Let us commend ourselves to the mercy of Amida. Homage to Amida Buddha."
"Homage to Amida Buddha," Atsue repeated.
Ryuichi came into the room. Behind him there walked a small, hatefully familiar figure wearing a tall black-lacquer hat.
"Good day to you, Taniko-san," said Horigawa, baring his blackened teeth in a broad grin.
With a scream of rage Taniko reached for the nearest weapon, which happened to be a lighted oil lamp. She hurled it at Horigawa, who stepped aside, laughing at her. Ryuichi shouted an alarm as the small, orange flames raced up a paper wall. A servant rushed in with a pot of water and threw it on the fire, and Ryuichi beat out the remaining flames with a quilt.
"I see Lady Taniko is still given to setting houses on fire," said Horigawa.
"It was you who put this idea in Sogamori's mind," said Taniko, wanting to spring upon her husband and strangle him.
Horigawa spread his hands. "On the contrary, I suggested to Lord Sogamori that the offspring of a woman of unsound mind and low birth could hardly be worthy of his attention. But he insisted. I am merely here to see that his wishes are carried out. By law you are my wife, and this boy is my son. He will be adopted by Lord Sogamori, and you, from now on, will be part of my household."
His household. They were sending her back to Horigawa. Her mind reeled under the shock. For a moment she really did want to kill herself. Everything that had given her happiness in these past years was gone, as if swallowed by an earthquake.
She knelt and held Atsue. "We will not go."
"That man isn't my father," Atsue sobbed.
"Of course not," Taniko said through clenched teeth. "He is incapable of being anyone's father."
Ryuichi was pleading with Horigawa. "You don't want her as a wife, Your Highness. I'll see to it that she doesn't trouble Lord Sogamori."
A change came over Horigawa's face. His cheeks reddened under his courtier's white powder. His eyes narrowed and his thin lips drew back from the black teeth. In a voice choked with hatred he said, "She is my wife. Mine. I will dispose of her as I see fit. Do not interfere in this, Ryuichi." Horigawa turned away from Ryuichi and called through the shutters to men standing on the veranda.
"Taniko," said Ryuichi, "perhaps if you let the boy go without making a scene, we could persuade Prince Horigawa to allow you to stay with us."
"Don't deceive yourself, Uncle," Taniko said coldly. "The prince has old scores to settle with me. As for you, you failed me when I needed you most. Now I don't want to stay with you."
"Try to understand, Taniko. All the world bends before Lord Sogamori as grass before the wind. I can't withstand him."
"I thought a samurai could withstand anything."
Two men in red silk jackets and shin-length trousers, their long swords hanging from their belts, tramped into the room. They looked somewhat sheepish at entering the chamber of a lady unprotected by a screen. Standing against the wall, they kept their eyes averted from Taniko and looked questioningly at Horigawa.
"Really, Your Highness, this is unnecessary," Ryuichi said. "You insult me by bringing your samurai into my house."
"You have already shown yourself unable to make the members of your household obey the commands of Lord Sogamori," said Horigawa. He turned to the samurai. "Take the boy from her and put him in Lord Sogamori's carriage."
Taniko remained kneeling with her arms around Atsue. Ryuichi held out his hands to her.
"Please, Taniko. Do not disgrace us like this."
"It is you who disgrace yourself, Uncle."
"Take the boy," Horigawa snapped at the samurai.
The elder of the two men stepped forward and stood over Taniko. "Excuse me, my lady. Will you give us the boy?"
"I'm sorry," said Taniko, "but I cannot do that."
"We know you, my lady. It was you who helped one of our comrades into the beyond. You are held in great esteem by all samurai. But we must obey orders. Do not force us to shame you."
Taniko closed her eyes and bowed her head. "Forgive me." She tightened her grip on Atsue.
"It is you who must forgive us, my lady." The samurai bent over and took hold of her arms. Atsue screamed. Ryuichi stood moaning and wringing his hands.
Suddenly Taniko let go of Atsue and leaped at the younger of the two samurai, grabbing for his sword. She had it half-way out of its scabbard when the samurai's open hand smashed down on the side of her head. She fell, stunned, unable to move.
"She must have been a warrior in a former life," said the older samurai.
"Mother!" Atsue cried. Taniko opened her eyes and saw her son in the grip of the younger samurai. She held out her arms to him and he struggled to free himself.
"Get the boy out of here," Horigawa said. The man dragged Atsue from the room.
Shutting Atsue's screams out of her mind, Taniko turned to the older samurai. She had to speak very slowly to keep the sobs from breaking through.
"Before you leave, ask the servants to give you his flute, koto and